


Messy Business

by sempervera



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship Aramis/Porthos, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Modern!Police AU, Policewoman!Anne of Austria, Policewoman!Constance, Porthos will drown Aramis in the Seine sooner or later, Prompt Fic, Shameless!Aramis, Shameless!Everyone basically, divorced!Athos, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempervera/pseuds/sempervera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern!Police AU for an Aramis/Porthos tumblr prompt by <a href="http://colderinoctober.tumblr.com/">colderinoctober</a>.</p><p>In which Aramis, Porthos and Athos went to the same police academy when younger and now they all work together under Treville in a Paris police station.<br/>Athos is the oldest, son of a noble military family, graduated one year earlier. In the year the three were apart he managed to fuck his life big time and only now, three years after he got out the academy, he's managing to get his life back together.<br/>Aramis and Porthos have been together for a while now, which in Aramis's opinion gives him the right to meddle with everyone's business without realizing Porthos is probably going to kill him.<br/>Constance and Anne went to same academy, both a couple years younger than the rest, and ended up working in that circus everyone calls a legitimate police station.<br/>D'Artagnan, of course, is bound to stumble in their paths.</p><p>Or also, "I obviously don't know how to keep my thoughts on track when writing about these idiots".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morning Time

When Athos walked through the doors that morning, the police station was rather quiet, the usual buzzing activity hadn’t yet started, it was five in the morning after all: the night business was over and daytime’s hadn’t begun yet.

Athos loved that particular time of the day, the station was quiet, no one there to harass him with requests, no Treville to go reporting to, no one asking for a schedule change or a raise, no one filing complaints for Aramis’s inappropriate behavior, no one begging for leave days or coming back after a sick leave with a full tan and a Hawaiian shirt. Sometimes he wondered if he accidentally stepped in a circus instead of one of the most important police station in Paris.

Thankfully, at five in the morning, the only people in the station were Athos himself, the guard stationed at the door and some of his colleagues coming back from the night shift: Athos could have lived with that relaxed silence for the rest of his life.

He closed his office’s door, hang the coat and proceeded to go sleeping on his desk for the next couple hours. He had drunk one glass too many that night, and now his head was promising to kill him if he didn’t get some rest. He wasn’t as used as he once had been to the excesses of alcohol, thank god. So he disconnected the landline to his office, silenced his phone and rested his head on his desk. He was out cold in a matter of seconds.

 

* * *

 

 

“How do you think it went?”

Porthos groaned at his boyfriend’s way too happy voice, “Can you please tone it down? It’s bloody five in the morning,” he begged while Aramis completely ignored him and kept prodding his shoulder to get him out of bed. Porthos finally gave up and rolled out of the sheets, “Why did I ever give you a key to this place?” he asked sarcastically while getting into the shower.

“Maybe ‘cause last time I forgot my badge here I had to crash one of your windows to get in, your neighbors called the police and the station sent over Constance and Anne to check on the possible breaking and entering?” Aramis asked with a fake innocent smile.

Porthos started considering drowning himself in the shower. Maybe so he could finally stop having the most embarrassing boyfriend of all times ever in the history of time and space of the galaxy and the universe. He was almost halfway finally doing it and be done with it all when Aramis’s voice chimed in again, still way more cheerful than needed at such a time in the morning, “Sooooo?”

Porthos groaned for the fifteenth time and gave up, “I called him last evening, we went out for drinks and he told me he was glad this could finally be over.”

Aramis looked at him wide eyed, “Woah, that’s like Athos’s version of pouring his heart out.”

It actually _was_ strange for Athos to be in such a talking mood, even over one – or several – glasses of wine. Now that Porthos came to think at it, it had been a while since he saw Athos really hangover. This divorce thing was finally starting to work for him at last, it had been five months now and Porthos was starting to despair. If not even finally divorcing from that awful woman and getting the hell away from his own insane family couldn’t grant the poor man some happiness, Porthos didn’t know what could.

“Anyway, you seriously need to stop gossiping, Athos is going to send you redirecting the traffic or helping tourists if you don’t stop meddling with his business.” Porthos tried to give his boyfriend his best ‘I’m warning you’ glare, but it inevitably failed when he realized Aramis wasn’t even remotely listening to him; his boyfriend was too busy ogling at his soaked figure, wrapped in the dark colored towel around his hips.

“You’re unbelievable,” Porthos tried to reprehend his boyfriend, but a smile was already forming on his lips.

“Hey, not my fault you went out for drinks with another man last night,” Aramis fake complained, “my bed was outrageously empty when I woke up this morning,” last complain being true, complete with puppy eyes and all. Porthos laughed and sweetly kissed his boyfriend, “I was way too tired and Athos dropped me here on his way to the station,” Aramis was still half pouting, Porthos sighed, “How can I make it up to you, you impossible man?”

Aramis dropped the act, “Well, we could stop by _Treville_ ’ _s_ for coffee before going to the station.”

Porthos was an idiot. How was it that he fell for it every.single.time? Aramis was easily the most confident cocky man in the all of Paris, how was it that Porthos managed to fell for the insecure-puppy-eyes thing every bloody time? Well, it was true that Aramis was also easily the most manipulative bastard in the entire nation, so he already had an answer. But seriously, this was starting to become embarrassing!

“It’s literally on the other side of town!” Porthos tried to complain, “we’ll have to leave in like five minutes to be at the station in time for our shift,” he paused, playing the only weapon he had against Aramis, “I wanted to spend some time with you before going in,” Porthos’s voice was now deeper and held promises in its tone. Aramis raised his left eyebrow, “Is that so?” his voice was sarcastic but he couldn’t help the sudden rush of blood that he got when Porthos leaned against him to get something from the shelf Aramis was resting his shoulder on.

Porthos smirked, he almost had him, “But we can go out, if you’re so hungry.” The emphasis the taller man put on the last word should have been declared illegal on Aramis’s opinion, it sounded way sexier than it should’ve been legally possible, “To get that coffee we’ll have to turn the sirens on” Aramis whispered while grabbing his boyfriend by the neck, “’cause there’s no way I’m letting you getting out of here for at least the next hour.” Aramis barely manage to finish his sentence before being shoved up on the bed, with Porthos reaching for his belt and about to shag him to kingdom come.

Aramis loved his life.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I don't think there's much left to say.  
> First chapter is super short, it's basically just an introduction, so don't worry, the rest will make up for it.  
> I didn't think this would turn out this way, I still actually don't know how it happened...  
> As usual, unbeta'd and English is still, unfortunately, not my native language.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!  
> Cheers!


	2. Some More Morning Coffee

“I don't get that,” Aramis motioned for Anne’s coffee cup, “You get a skim milk latte, and then you put whipped cream and sugar in it.”

Anne looked at him with a condescending expression and started talking to him as to a slow five years old, “ _Because_ I get skimmed milk, I then can put whipped cream and sugar in it.”

“Mmm…” Aramis nodded, and then stopped, “Nope, still not getting it.”

Constance was looking at them, “I still wonder how you two could have ever been together.”

Anne laughed, “I wanted to piss my parents off their minds. And this one was the best at that,” she pointed at Aramis who was pretending to be deeply offended by the implication.

“ARAMIS!”

Speaking of Aramis’s ability to piss people off their minds. Athos just opened the door of his office, from which he hadn’t been seen emerging for at least the past thirty minutes, and didn’t look at all pleased.

“PORTHOS!”

Anne started smiling mischievously at Aramis, “What the hell have you two done this time?” Aramis slowly raised his head, checking Athos. The man couldn’t see the four of them in Constance’s cubicle, so he also couldn’t see Constance herself slowly understandingly patting Porthos on the shoulder, who was now pinching the bridge of his noise, prepping himself for what was coming their way.

Aramis smiled and simply motioned for the cups of coffee and boxes of patisserie they all had breakfast from, Anne checked the time, then took a look at Aramis’s neck and had it all figured out in a matter of seconds. She knew her ex boyfriend damn too well.

“He _is_ going to kill you one of these days, you know?” Anne said, calmly sipping her coffee.

“Not if I get there first,” Porthos had just enough time to say it before Athos appeared at the open side of Constance’s cubicle. His eyes were slightly circled, his beard hadn’t been trimmed and his shirt had surely seen better days, still the best part was his expression: homicidal instinct at his best.

“You two. My office. Now.”

Aramis put on his best smile and handed Athos a cup, “Black, just the way you like it.”

Athos almost growled to his friend.

Anne stared amused at the scene.

Porthos smacked Aramis’s head.

Constance smacked it again.

 

* * *

 

“Have you both completely lost your mind?”

Porthos had just closed Athos’s office door and he was already considering opening it again and getting the hell out of there.

Aramis, ever the gentlemen, had brought Athos’s coffee with him and put it on his friend’s desk. He at least had the decency to look vaguely guilty while he sat on one of the two chairs in front of Athos.

“Come on Athos, it’s not that big a deal,” Aramis tried to diminish the thing, “we’ve done worse, you know?” Athos looked on the verge of throwing the man out of the window and be done with all the trouble.

“Aramis you’re aware that, reminding me you managed to screw up worse than using a police car to go get you your morning breakfast, may not be the best course of action to get me not to send you to direct the traffic on Place de La Concorde for the next month, right?” an exhausted Athos asked.

At the bare mention of traffic directing Aramis looked terrified, “You’re not serious.” He looked Porthos, looking for help, but his boyfriend has his best ‘I told you so’ face on. When Athos only glared at him, Aramis tried again, “Come on! Yes, it was stupid but we didn’t hurt anyone!” Athos still didn’t look convinced, “And after all, it wasn’t just me! He didn’t stop me!” Aramis pointed at Porthos like a child.

Athos took a breath, “’Mis, I gave up on Porthos trying to stop you from being an idiot a long ago. Specifically when you broke both yours and his arm after he tried to stop you from riding one of the lion statues outside l’Hotel de Ville while drunk as hell on Bastille Day.”

Aramis looked offended, “I was barely twenty at the time!”

Athos looked at him, “You were twenty-two. But that’s not the point. The point is that trying to stop you sometimes brings more damage than good, so I learned not to rely on other people to prevent you from being an idiot.”

Aramis huffed, but wisely decided to shut up.

“So?” Porthos intervened, “please tell me you’re sending this idiot to Place de La Concorde for the rest of his life.”

“If I’m going, you’re coming with me!” Aramis yelled immediately, which lead to a discussion between the two, involving details and blackmails that Athos would’ve gladly avoid being made aware of.

“No one is going to Place de La Concorde!” he finally raised his voice to stop his two idiotic friends, “My headache is coming back and I really don’t need that, so,” he glared at Aramis, “I expect you not to do anything stupid for at least two months!”

“Two weeks!”

“A month and a half!”

Porthos simply sat on the couch of the office, already knowing where Athos was going with this and that it would be over soon.

“Three weeks and four days!” Aramis, the idiot.

“Deal.” Athos grinned.

Just as Porthos had expected.

“Why are you smiling?” Aramis asked, before realizing, “You sneaky bastard! It’s your birthday in exactly three weeks!”

Athos’s winning smile could’ve competed with Lucifer’s.

“Aren’t you ashamed you’re using this to your personal advantage?” Aramis tried to guilt his friend into voiding the deal, but Athos wouldn’t budge for the world.

“To stop you from being an imbecile, as you are every year, on my birthday? I’d sell my grandmother without thinking twice.”

Aramis glared at him but gave up and sat back on his chair, from which he had gotten up on the heat of the debate. He raised his booted feet and slouched in his classic position.

Athos gave him a look but he knew better than trying to stop Aramis from slouching on every possible surface, instead, with a smile, he grabbed the coffee Aramis bought him and started giving them their assignment for the day. It slowly became their regular everyday meeting, or at least until the office door slammed open with a bang.

 

* * *

 

Captain Treville barged in to the office, expression identical to Athos’s fifteen minutes earlier.

“I’ve had complaints. Allegation a car of the city police was seen rushing through the morning traffic, sirens blasting, through half of the damn city just to be later seen parked in front of a café on rue de la Verrerie! Is it true?” At that point pretty much everyone was staring either at the ceiling or at the points of their boots. Except for Aramis who was sipping coffee from one of _Treville’s_ cup without even a hint of vague guilt on his face. Thank god Athos didn’t believe in throwing friends under the bus, in his opinion Aramis deserved something closer to an armored tank, so he went ahead and covered for his friends’ asses.

“Let me think.” Athos paused, “No. Because that would be illegal.” A calm and steady expression on his face.

Treville sighed, he damned the day fate’s perverse sense of humor brought Aramis to his station’s door. Athos he liked, the boy worked hard, and god knew he had been through hell and back. Porthos was one of the most reliable men he had, he came from nothing and Treville knew the boy had almost worn himself out to graduate first of his class at the academy. And then there was Aramis.

It wasn’t that Aramis wasn’t good at his job, he was one of the best, it was just that sometimes Aramis seemed to want to compensate for the almost non existing trouble his two friends caused, which turned out being more trouble Treville had ever asked for in his all life.

Staring at the three of them in Athos’s office, he simply raised his eyes to the ceiling and walked out without a word. Those three would have been the end of him.

Silence lasted in a room for no more than five seconds.

“He seemed happy.”

Porthos threw his empty coffee cup at Aramis.

Athos started banging his head against the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that, due to my incredible tiredness, yesterday night I completely forgot to specify a very important detail:  
>  _Trèville's_ , the coffee shop I refer to is evidently inspired by mnemosyne's [Covered in Bees](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214236) marvelous coffeshop AU.  
> Of course this story is a different one and I could've used another name, but, due to d'Artagnan's choice of employment (which you'll see in the next chapter) I decided to give mnemosyne a wink in appreciation of her work.  
> What else? 
> 
> Oh yeah, I've been to Paris just once in my life, but the inspiration for my idea of _Trèville's_ comes from an actually existing place. It's the amazing boulangerie/patisserie/café that fed me and my friends when we stayed in the city this summer, which, in case you're interested is in Rue de la Verrerie 2.  
>  Also, the lion statues I talk about, [actually exist](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/30/Lion_Jacquemart_Hotel_de_Ville_Paris.jpg), they're in the back of the Hotel de Ville and they look like the most majestic motherfuckers I've ever seen. 
> 
> Last but not least, some Suits fan (if you've never seen the show you should totally check it out), might have recognized Anne's line about skim milk latte, whipped cream and sugar. It's actually a quote from Donna in season one, episode nine.
> 
> Ok, I think that's all.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, next one will see the arrival of our dear Gascon and some more Aramis/Porthos, since this was technically born as an Aramis/Porthos.  
> Any advice, critique and comment is welcomed.  
> Cheers!


	3. Evening Walks

The minute Anne walked through the door of her apartment she suddenly felt all the tiredness of the day on her shoulder. She just finished a double shift, an not even a light one at that, she could still feel the bruises one of the amenable guys she and Constance arrested, left her on her arm. Unfortunately for the idiot, Anne earned her judo black belt at the age of nineteen, and never stopped practicing; she had been promoted to fifth dan just a couple months before. Still, there were things she could not compete with, no matter her belt color, one of these was sheer force. Sure, she could flip the idiot on his back and prevent him to ever get up, but it took an amount of strength and effort that took its toll on her light figure.

Anne sighed and rubbed her neck, she took off her uniform boots and headed for the bathroom, nothing a good hot bath and some trashy show couldn’t fix. Those were actually the moments she almost regretted her choice to be financially independent from her family, she didn’t need this job, she never actually had, she just wanted it. Then she remembered _why_ she had wanted so bad to become was she was now, and she smiled: she belonged completely to herself. And yes, independence surely meant that sometimes she would feel lonely, but no one ever said that she had to be alone.

She took her phone and hit one of the speed dials number, “You’re making dinner tonight, your place.” She simply hanged up, not waiting for an answer, and went to change out of her uniform. A smile now on her delicate features.

 

* * *

 

“Are you serious?” Porthos was eyeing his boyfriend from the couch they had both been laying on until Anne called, and was about to kill him.

“Yeah, I think she had a rough day,” Aramis nodded while looking for something in the kitchen cupboard, completely oblivious of what was going on in his boyfriend’s head.

It wasn’t that Porthos didn’t like Anne, she was a smart woman, interesting, good at her job… he just didn’t like her around Aramis. He remembered their time together at the academy and every time he saw her with Aramis he couldn’t help but feel… jealous. Yes, he and Aramis had been official for almost the entire past year, and a thing for much more than that, and he didn’t believe his boyfriend would ever cheat on him, but he was annoyed by the intimacy Anne had with him _all the time_. And, of course, the way they both acted around each other, they reminded him of a old divorced couple, it made him go crazy.

Porthos also believed two things about this whole thing: first, it was _stupid_ on his side to feel like that, it had been more than five years ago, and second, _Aramis should have known not to act so lovey dovey with his ex in front of Porthos, come on._ Naturally, being the two beliefs completely opposite, it meant only one thing: passive aggressive behavior would ensue every single time one belief would trump the other in Porthos’s head. Naturally, Aramis wouldn’t have a damn clue.

That night Porthos was damn tired and in no mood for an entire dinner with Aramis and his ex, even if Athos and Constance would be coming too. So he just muttered something about an headache, gathered his jacket and keys, and went for the door.

Aramis didn’t even have the time to realize what had happened that Porthos had already gone, slamming the door behind him, Aramis looked at the door with a puzzled expression on his face.

What the hell had just happened?

 

* * *

 

 

Porthos was furious, furious with himself, with Aramis, with Anne, with the entire world. He decided to take a walk to clear his head, so he headed towards the Seine, he’d take the subway once he’d crossed the river. He liked the area Aramis lived in, Le Marais was always buzzing with activity, tourist and just people enjoying one of the most central districts in the city, particularly now, the summer always made Paris shine. Still, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling at the top of his stomach when he thought about Anne and Aramis, and how probably Aramis was now worried about him. Porthos had almost turned his mind around and was about to head back, claiming mental insanity, when he got a text from Aramis, “Hey, I’m sorry you’re not feeling okay. I’m here if you need anything.”

The idiot, the bloody idiot! He actually believed Porthos had an headache! All feelings of forgiveness forgot, Porthos took the stairs heading down to the subway with an infuriated expression on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

It was around eight o’clock when Constance got to Aramis’s place, almost an half hour after Porthos had fled his boyfriend’s place, she barely managed to get in, that Aramis had already started talking at light speed about what had just happened.

“So he just left?” Constance couldn’t get her head around what Aramis had told her. She had spoken with Porthos that afternoon and he was feeling completely ok. “Yes, that’s what I’m telling you! It doesn’t make any sense!” Aramis was almost desperately mixing some ingredients in a bowl.

“I think I’ve done something to upset him, but I’ve no idea what,” he kept mixing stuff in the bowl as if his life depended on it, “still, maybe he left because he doesn’t want me to intrude,” more ingredients in the bowl, “or maybe he wanted me to follow him,” the bowl was suddenly set on the counter with a loud noise.

Constance sighed and tied her hair, heading towards the kitchen, “Calm down, here mix this,” she gave Aramis the bowl back, “now, tell me exactly what happened.” Aramis told her everything, him and Porthos getting back from work in the afternoon, spending it on the couch, kissing and watching silly tv shows, Anne’s call, Porthos leaving shortly after, the text he send his boyfriend to make sure he was there for him.

“Wait a second, you said Anne called?” Constance was starting to think she might be understanding what had happened. “Yes, she called, telling me to make dinner,” Aramis answered, mixing the hell out of that bowl.

Aramis was an idiot, Constance knew that, but it still managed to amaze her how much of a fucking moron he could sometimes upgrade to. It had been three years of him and Porthos seeing each other, almost one year of relationship _and the moron still hadn’t understood that Porthos was jealous._

Constance had decided a long time ago _not_ to meddle in her friends’ love lives, she believed everybody was entitled to their mistakes in that field, she was living proof of that, but this was it.

“Aramis, you’re an imbecile.”

Aramis looked at her, dumbstruck, for once he had done nothing to provoke the insult. Constance gathered up all her patience and started explaining Aramis the specific reasons why he was an imbecile. Well, not really, she just told him about Porthos, to list all the other reasons she’d have needed the entire night.

When she was done, Aramis simply got up and headed for the door, “Lock the door when you’re done,” and with that he disappeared through the door.

Constance simply looked at the bowl with the ingredients Aramis had mixed and threw it in the garbage. Then she pulled the Chinese delivery menu on her phone and started ordering Anne’s favorites, that would have to do, Aramis was the talented cook, she could barely make an omelet. Once the order had been placed, Constance opened a bottle of wine and headed for the couch, silently praying Aramis could manage to address the problem with Porthos without being an idiot. She stopped for a second, thinking, yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

She poured more wine.

 

* * *

 

Athos had just finished signing the last of the reports on his desk, he looked at the clock on his wall, ten thirty, he switched off his desk light, gathered his things and headed for the door. While getting out of the station he ran in a couple of his colleagues, who nodded at him, and some agents who wished their superior a good night, Athos gently replied to everyone and walked out the door. The summer night was warm, Athos could see the lights of the Luxembourg Gardens in the distance and he decided to take a walk to Aramis’s place, he headed up Rue Saint-Jacques with an unusual smile on his face.

He was feeling good, the meeting with the lawyer earlier that week felt like a liberation for him, he finally gained his oh so longed freedom. It felt so beautifully good, he could have cried of joy if he had any tears left after the last four years. He ignored the heart wrenching feeling his memories usually brought with them and he kept on walking, Paris was beautiful that night and not even his memories could take his freedom away.

He crossed the Seine, passed Notre Dame, filled with tourists even at that time, got out of the Ile and walked along the banks of the river for a while before realizing he walked a bit too much and headed back, towards Rue des Archives, where Aramis lived.

Athos had just turned into one of the alleys that led to Aramis’s street when he noticed something wasn’t right. There where three men on the opposite side of the streets, well, two men and one boy, and they were apparently having an heated conversation. Athos slowed his pace, his instincts kicking in, he was still a good twenty meters away, no one had noticed him, he could just wait to watch tings play out, so he did.

 

* * *

 

 

“That was my girlfriend, you understand?”

D’Artagnan was hurrying as much as he could to finish dropping the café’s trash in the bins and head back inside as soon as possible. He tried to ignore the man and his friend, two incredibly wasted tourists, but they wouldn’t let him be. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” The guy that had just spoke grabbed d’Artagnan by the shoulder.

The younger men fought the instinct to throw a punch, he just couldn’t lose another job, “Yes. I heard you before, when I told you that it was your girlfriend that was hitting on me, and not the other way around,” d’Artagnan calmly explained again, at the best of his conciliatory abilities.

“So, you’re saying my friend’s girlfriend’s a slut?” the other man, evidently even more drunk, chimed in, getting too close for d’Artagnan’s taste.

 _Yes_ , d’Artagnan thought. “Of course not,” he said, “I’d never say something like that,” he tried, hoping that would make them stop and allow him to go back to closing the café.

“You think she’s not good enough for you?” now the offended boyfriend got too close too, d’Artagnan breathed again and tried one more time to get rid of the two of them, before losing his patience and beat the shit out of them.

“No, I was just saying that she’s not my type,” he said. That apparently managed to get the two to back off, d’Artagnan though he had gotten lucky for once.

Naturally he was wrong.

“Oh, now I understand,” the drunker one said, giving a pat on the shoulder to the other, “he’s one of _those_.” His friend looked confused for a second before getting it, “Oh,” he paused, “Yeah, you look like one of _them_.”

D’Artagnan felt his blood boil, but miraculously managed to keep it together, he turned his back and headed towards the café’s backdoor. Yeah, he didn’t like when idiots acted like that about gay people, but, once again, they were idiots and he should start ignoring them, instead of punching the fuck out of them as he usually did, maybe karma would appreciate.

Well, apparently that night karma had decided to take a vacation, which meant that by turning his shoulders he couldn’t see the two idiots reaching for him and hitting him the back.

 _Fuck_ , d’Artagnan tried turning but his head started spinning and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am apparently unable to stop writing this story.  
> I don't exclude another chapter will be posted tonight, or at the last, tomorrow morning.  
> Once again, unbeta'd and everything else. 
> 
> About Paris's geography: I'm using my own memories to structure the way the story develops around the city, still, I do check with the Internet to be sure I'm not making enormous mistakes. If anyone has a better knowledge of the city, do let me know if what I'm writing doesn't make any sense :)
> 
> About the police academy and the police force: I'm completely inventing everything. Sorry, the sole idea of researching on the matter made me feel tired. So forgive me about that.
> 
> Ok, that's it.  
> As usual, I hope you enjoyed it.  
> Cheers!


	4. Blue Nights Are Not That Blue, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one is coming out longer than I expected, so I decided to split it in two parts.  
> Next one will follow in a couple of hours, don't worry.

D’Artagnan’s head hurt like hell. Seriously, it felt as if someone had cracked it open with a pickaxe or something. He tried moving, getting up but his head started spinning so hard he fell back on, wait, where the hell was he? He barely managed to open his eyes, he saw blue lights in the dark, tried to focus but the effort cost him another stabbing pain in the back of his head. He cradled his head in his hands and was about to faint again when someone’s hands suddenly were on his back, impulsively d’Artagnan raised his head, _bad fucking move_ ; he had time to glimpse something, a vague blue color, two eyes looking concernedly at him, and then he passed out again.

 

* * *

 

“Porthos open the fucking door!” Aramis was outside his boyfriend’s place, knocking the hell out of that poor innocent door. In the rush of getting out of his place he completely forgot the keys to Porthos’s one. So he was now screaming his lungs out to get Porthos to open the fucking door, since he apparently decided to ignore the previous five minutes long doorbell ringing Aramis had gone for. It had been almost half an hour he had been waiting on the stairs, and he would have been worried about someone calling the police if it weren’t for the fact that, after Aramis’s last exploit, the entire building now knew he was a policemen, thanks for that.

“Either you open or I’m kicking the damn thing down, your choice!” Aramis was starting to lose his patience. He just wanted to see Porthos, talk to him, explain him why he had nothing to be jealous of and, of course, crawl, asking for forgiveness for having been a blind imbecile. Still, there wouldn’t have been any of that if Porthos wouldn’t open the damn door first. Aramis repeated the threat, and this time was about to go through with it, when a deep voice, coming from behind his back, stopped him.

“Well, I’d like to see you try.”

Porthos was coming up the stairs, keys in hand, and sarcastic smile on his lips, “What on earth are you doing screaming at my door?”

Porthos’s voice was calm, which, of course set Aramis on fire. He grabbed the keys from his boyfriend’s hands, opened the lock, shove him inside, and slammed the door behind him.

“Are you completely insane?” Porthos looked at Aramis in shock, “What?”

“Do you have any idea of how fucking worried I was?” Aramis continued, “You left my place like Satan himself had just walked in, you wouldn’t answer to your damn phone, I find out that you’ve been jealous of the most ancient history ex girlfriend in the history of ancient history ex girlfriends, and you haven’t said a word to me about it in _three fucking years_ , and you ask _me_ what I’m doing here?”

Ok, that wasn’t what he planned to say, but that was his problem with Porthos: he completely lost his head around the man. There was a reason he chose Porthos to be his first, real, boyfriend, and it wasn’t his perfectly toned body, which surely helped though. It was the fact that Porthos made him feel insecure, which, for the man wielding the undefeated title of “Cockiest Man in Paris”, was a good damn stunt to pull on Porthos’s part.

Aramis felt insecure in that good way that prompts you to try and always be better, that was Porthos’s effect on him. That and the most indecent thoughts the human mind could conceive. Still, back to the point, Aramis wasn’t famous for his ability to deal with his own problems, such an activity would usually turn out in two ways: either he would miraculously manage _not_ to fuck everything up, or…

“WHAT? THIS IS MY FAULT NOW?” Porthos’s voice boomed.

Or precisely this.

Aramis cursed his own stupid tongue and sighed, trying to gather his thoughts, he opened his mouth to ask for forgiveness and was about to crawl to Porthos’s feet, begging his pardon, when Porthos spoke again.

“You know what? I don’t even have the strength to deal with this now, I’m tired, tomorrow’s shift begins early and I’m not really in the mood to stand here and being told how much of an idiot I am, so thank you for coming over, leave a note on the fridge saying how stupid I am and leave.” That said, the man turned and walked to the bedroom.

Porthos’s voice almost broke Aramis’s heart.

Oh no, he wasn’t letting this happen. Aramis sprinted to the bedroom, grabbed his boyfriend by the shoulder and nothing short than yelled at him the following ramble, “Yes, you’re an idiot,” Porthos’s face said that he was about to punch him, “But that’s only because I’ve been an utter and complete imbecile,” Porthos stopped, “I should have noticed that you weren’t feeling comfortable with me and Anne around, acting like a married couple and all.” Aramis paused for a second, to be sure Porthos wouldn’t walk out on him again. When he saw that his boyfriend was listening he started talking at double the speed, “I should have asked you if that was okay with you, and I evidently didn’t, and it evidently wasn’t. I’m sorry, love. I am so, so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel like that, and if you do manage to forgive me and not kill me on the spot, I promise I will never again.”

Aramis managed to put on his best apologetic expression, before closing his eyes, praying Porthos wouldn’t throw him out.

“I’m sending Constance a fruit basket.”

It took Aramis’s a good ten seconds to fully understand what Porthos had just said, he had been too distracted by the relief of hearing his boyfriend’s voice.

“I resent the implications of that phrase,” Aramis made his best offended face, which only managed to earn him a cocked eyebrow form a very dubious looking Porthos.

“Ok ok, I’m a complete and utter imbecile,” Aramis admitted, “Now that we’ve all agreed on that, can I just please kiss you and apologize to you for the rest of the night?” he pleaded.

Porthos smiled and allowed his boyfriend to come closer and kiss him, Aramis’s ecstatic look after their kiss reminded Porthos why he was in love with that idiot. Aramis was passionate, in everything, and most surely everyone, he did. Porthos was about to throw him on his bed and explore that promise of an all night long apology when Aramis stopped the kissing, “I’m going to tell you all about why me and Anne are such an old married couple and you’re going to listen. She will probably murder me in my sleep for doing it but I don’t care, you’re more important.”

Porthos stopped the sudden urge to kill Aramis for having brought up Anne in such a moment, things were taking an interesting twist.

 

* * *

 

“Porthos is _jealous_? Of _me_?” Anne was halfway through her mushroom-bamboo chicken and was staring at Constance like she was drunk. Which she probably was, a little, due to having almost finished the entire wine bottle before Anne got there, but still, she wasn’t _that_ drunk.

“Yes, you idiot,” Constance rebuked, “These are the moments I remember _how_ it was possible for you and Aramis to be together, you’re both unreceptive idiots.”

“Hey, that’s not true!” Anne tried to defend herself, even if she knew her friend was right, herself and Aramis? They were two bloody idiots together, she perfectly knew that, which had pretty much been why their story lasted not even six months. She was a the highest moment or her family feud when she and Aramis met, and he had been the perfect way to stick another to her family, letting them know she wouldn’t be the cute little girl everyone wanted her to be. Or at least, surely not because they told her so. She smiled at the memories of her story with Aramis, it had been fun, he showed her carefree way of living, he showed her that blood wasn’t a requirement to be family, and that there was nothing wrong with being a little selfish from time to time. Their relationship had been brief, she rapidly realized she wasn’t interested in Aramis as a man, as a lover. Which was exactly why she considered insane the thought of Porthos being jealous of her.

“Aramis is like… my brother!” she told to an almost bored Constance, who already knew all this, and just wanted to smack everyone on the head for being so oblivious.

“I know, too bad Porthos has no idea,” Anne was the second idiot she had to point obvious things out to, that evening, and Constance was starting to understand why Athos always had an headache when he had to deal with their division.

“What do you mean Porthos has no idea?” Anne was now confused. Sure, she and Porthos weren’t best friends, actually Porthos was the one she bonded less. That was due to the fact that, when they met, Porthos had looked oh, so intimidating to her, which was something already hard to accomplish, but she also felt inadequate. From what Aramis had told her, and Aramis pretty much told everything about everyone when it came down to talk about his relationship with his boyfriend, she had gathered that Porthos pretty much arrived where he was without anyone’s help. He managed to get where he was all by himself. Yeah, that was pretty much the only thing that could’ve made twenty-two years old Anne feel inadequate.

She had just graduated from college at the time, double major in political science and economics, minor in art history, magna cum laude, on her way for an internship in one of the most important offices of the Paris’s administration. Her father had gotten her that place, her mother was oh, so proud, and her boyfriend was about to propose to her on graduation night, at the party her family was throwing her in one of the most beautiful villas in Paris.

She overheard him talking about the proposal with _her mother._ She suddenly felt like she couldn’t breath. She could still remember the way her lungs chocked when she heard her mother telling Jean that she was oh, so happy about this, _so Anne could get married and have the same wonderful life she was having_. Her mother never worked a day in her life, she was a good person, she loved her, but she was not what Anne wanted to become. About to faint she called a taxi, gathered her long gown in her hands and sneaked away from the party.

It had been on that night that she ended up meeting Constance for the first time, in a bar in the universities area, where she was having her own graduation party. Anne had gone back to the university, went into one of the many libraries and just sat in one of the couches for what had felt like hours. When she heard her stomach grumbling, she realized that it probably _had_ been hours, so she got up and went looking for something to eat. Fifteen minutes later she would stumble on Constance and her life would take an unexpected turn.

Anne smiled at the thought, then realized she had probably been silent for too long, she looked back to Constance to ask her what she had been saying while she had been lost in her memories but saw her best friend asleep on the couch next to hers. Poor Constance, always worrying about everyone. Anne couldn’t thank the universe enough for having sent her such an angel that night, well, a very drunk angel sure, but she wouldn’t have changed her for any other.

She snuggled closer to her friend, on Aramis’s couch, and she remembered of another time she had been on that couch. The time she had completely freaked out and almost gave Aramis an heart attack. Now that se came to think of it, it actually had been the same day she had met Porthos. _What a funny coincidence_ , she thought, while falling asleep.

Anne was an idiot. 

Even about herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's some of Anne's story. I liked writing it and I hope it came out clearer than it feels to me. 
> 
> Aramis being head over his heels about Porthos is easily one of my favorite things in existence.
> 
> Constance is just tired of having to deal with this bunch of idiots and I pity her for when she'll meet d'Art. I kept him unconscious just to spare her having to deal with all that mess too. 
> 
> Ok, for now that's all folks!  
> See you later!  
> Cheers.
> 
> Edit: sorry guys, got kind of kidnapped by friends, I do apparently have a social life, new chapter will be up tomorrow. Love. ;)


	5. Blue Nights Are Not That Blue, Part 2

Athos’s right hand was still hurting a little, his knuckles were scraped and he was almost sure ha had a cut somewhere on his forehead. Still, he was more worried about the unconscious boy lying on the sidewalk. Athos kneeled next to the boy, checking for vitals, when he made sure the boy was breathing and everything, he tried waking him up. At the second attempt the boy finally started moving, trying to get up, but falling down on his back in a matter of seconds. Athos could see him blinking his eyes, trying to focus, apparently the effort was killing his head, he saw the boy cradling his head with his hands and Athos reached for his back, trying to help him staying in a semi-erect position. When Athos touched him, the boy suddenly raised his head, _stupid move, boy_ , Athos thought. He was familiar enough with head injuries to know that move wouldn’t help at all. As predicted, the boy barely managed to open his eyes, take a vague look, and then fall unconscious again.

Thankfully the ambulance he called arrived that very moment and the paramedics went taking care of the boy. Seconds after the ambulance, a police car arrived. Athos gestured for the officers, who rapidly reached their superior.

“Get these two idiots in,” Athos motioned for the two drunken idiots he knocked out “and keep them in. If the boy’s not pressing charges, I am.” The agents simply nodded and went collecting the two sorry excuses of human beings, that were now laying on the sidewalk, half drunk, half in pain. Athos was only sorry ‘cause the alcohol in their bodies would’ve meant that they wouldn’t feel their injuries at full extension. Then he remembered that everything would hurt more in the morning, which made him sadistically, satisfied by the thought he headed to check on the boy.

“How is he?” Athos’s voice made the two paramedics turn. One of them, a blonde woman, answered, “It’s highly likely he has a concussion, he goes in and out of consciousness,” she motioned towards the boy, who now was apparently regaining consciousness again. He moved in a confused way, but this time he managed to sit upright and actually open his eyes. The blue moving lights had to bother him ‘cause he shielded his eyes, Athos shouted to the drivers of both vehicles to shut them off, when he turned back to the boy he saw the paramedics checking him again.

One of the agents walked to Athos, “We’re heading back to the station. Will you be needing a lift, sir?”

Athos shook his head, “Thank you, officer, but I’ll walk, no worries.” The agent nodded and walked away, getting into the car and then disappearing down the road. Athos went back to the paramedics.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m telling you I’m fine now, I don’t need to go to any hospital. Thank you.” d’Artagnan’s head was still killing him, but there would be no chance in hell he’d spend the night having his head checked just for one stupid headache. Probably the worst of his life, but still an headache.

Apparently, the paramedics didn’t seem to be interested in letting him walk out of there. D’Artagnan sighed, karma really owed him a big fucking one for this. While he was thinking that, Athos walked into the group. D’Artagnan stared at him, specifically he stared at his eyes. _Woah._ Apparently karma was paying him back right now, with all the due interests.

D’Artagnan thought he never had saw such striking eyes. He rapidly identified them with the same eyes that were checking on him moments before and the whole being knocked unconscious, head killing him, thing wasn’t feeling so bad now.

“His head is bleeding, shouldn’t you be checking him?” d’Artagnan asked, trying to get rid of the paramedics, motioning for Athos’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” Athos replied, seeing right through his attempt, “You’re the one who passed out like three times in the last fifteen minutes.”

D’Artagnan cockily smiled, “And now I’m perfectly conscious, see?” he got up to his feet.

_Bad fucking move, d’Artagnan._

_Very stupid move, boy._

D’Artagnan faltered for a moment, Athos reached to stop him to fall but d’Artagnan managed to keep his figure standing, so Athos removed his hand from the boy’s arm. D’Artagnan was currently too busy thanking god he didn’t pass out again to realize Athos had helped him. He seriously needed to go back at closing the café, which meant he needed to get rid of the damn paramedics.

D’Artagnan put on his best convincing smile, directing it towards the blonde paramedic, “Seriously,” d’Artagnan peeked at her nametag, “Janine, I’m fine,” he added some puppy eyes, “and I really need to go closing the café, before my boss fires me. Can I please go?” he finished, with a little charming smile.

Athos couldn’t believe his own eyes, did the boy actually think they were stupid?

“Oh well, I guess that if you promise to come by to the ER in the morning, there’s nothing wrong with letting you go.”

 _Well,_ Athos thought, _apparently they were._ He could already see the triumph in the boy’s eyes.

The blonde paramedic continued, “As long as you’ve got someone to stay with you tonight, to check you don’t fall unconscious again?”

Athos didn’t realize what was happening before it was already over.

“Of course,” d’Artagnan answered, patting Athos on the shoulder, “My friend here will surely keep me company, don’t you worry,” d’Artagnan moved towards the blonde, “and let me thank you for helping me.” He started helping the woman to get back in the ambulance, followed by her colleague, who was evidently just longing for his bed, and simply went in the vehicle without a sound. D’Artagnan closed the ambulance’s door after the woman had gotten in.

Athos was still in shock.

“Ok, but make sure to wake him up every now and then, if he falls asleep, ok?” the woman was now talking to Athos, who was staring at her with a vague look on his face. D’Artagnan stepped in, putting his arm around Athos’s shoulders, “He will, don’t worry! Have a nice night darling!”

The woman smiled at the boy waving at her and the ambulance went on its way.

D’Artagnan stayed there waving for a little more, when Athos finally spoke.

“You’re holding on to me because you’re about to faint, aren’t you?”

D’Artagnan apologetically smiled before passing out again.

Athos got him before he touched the ground. Fantastic, now he had an unconscious idiot of a bartender on his hands, at one in the morning, with no idea about who he was. Athos sighed, got the keys from the boy’s apron and started getting the two of them into the café, he would’ve figured out something from there.

 

* * *

  

Porthos was sitting in one of the bar stools he saved from the pub under his place when it got renovated. As almost everything in Porthos’s place, the stools didn’t match the rest of the furniture, still, the ensemble managed to create a sense of familiarity, which Aramis had come to enjoy very much. He had just finished making some coffee for the both of them, so he sat down and thought how to begin, not really knowing where to start. Aramis hadn’t told anyone about that time, it wasn’t a secret or anything; it was just something very intimate, and actually, not his story to tell. Still, this was Porthos, if that was something that could put an edge between them, he’d have done anything to avoid it. So he ran an hand through his hair and started talking.

“Do you remember when me and Anne started going out together?” Aramis asked. Porthos’s face wasn’t featuring his best loving expression, Aramis sighed, “Come on, bare with me.”

His boyfriend looked unconvinced, but still answered, “Not well, I was doing that six months internship with Cornet, so I was basically half asleep out of tiredness every day. I only met her a couple of times, right before you stopped dating.”

Aramis smiled triumphantly, “Exactly! Anne, and me we dated for not even six month after Constance introduced us. I don’t think anybody else actually knows how the two of them met, which I actually need to tell you about, before I can tell you about what I actually want to tell you about.” Porthos started looking confused. Aramis smiled, “Ok, I’ll try to make it simple,” and he went ahead telling his boyfriend the whole Anne ditching her grad party and eventually ditching her entire family to join the academy and trying to be independent thing.

By that point of the story Porthos looked genuinely surprised, “Wow. I gathered that she wasn’t a big fan of talking about family, but I had no idea she had actually walked out on them.” Aramis smiled, “Yeah, she did. She was twenty-two, stubborn and scared as fuck,” he paused to sip his coffee, “but she just had gotten into the academy, so her family hoped they’d be able to convince her to come back, right after she’d realize how hard is to actually fend for oneself, they thought she would come back running.” Porthos could empathize with that, he had to do that from the age of eighteen, and it hadn’t been a walk in the park.

“And she almost did, but, thanks god, by that time she already had the glorious misfortune of meeting me,” Aramis continued with a smile, “It actually happened after one of the first times we all went out together, you were there too. We went to that hideous Indian place Constance loves, you remember?” Porthos nodded, that place was surely breaking at least sixteen laws, but he had to give it to Constance that their chicken tikki masala was also illegally good.

Aramis went on with the story, “Well, when we went back to my apartment that night, Anne had drank way too much, and ended up on the couch, while I was getting the uniform out and ready for the next day.” Porthos smiled, remembering how efficient Aramis actually had been their first year at the station. “When I went back I found her in tears, and she started crying even more desperately when I asked her what was wrong. She then proceeded to go hysterical and started pacing all around the place and started yelling that she couldn’t do this, that she was just a spoiled kid, and that she should’ve gone back to her family. Before I had time to say anything she started crying again. She looked so lost and alone, I swear. She was young, drunk, and scared out of her fucking mind, so I calmed her down the best I could and I told her what she needed to hear. She slowly calmed down and eventually, exhausted, fell asleep.” Aramis stopped talking and looked at Porthos, to make sure he had followed him up to there. Porthos nodded, understanding that the gist of the story was about to come. Aramis continued, “Well, after that night she woke up and started acting differently around me. I ignored it, giving her the time she needed,” pause, sip, “after one month or so, she came to me and embarrassingly blurted out that she thought of me as a brother figure now, and couldn’t get herself to be my girl anymore. So I simply gave her a hug, and that was it. I didn’t need a girlfriend and she needed a new family, I couldn’t see anything wrong in that.” Aramis gulped down the last of his coffee, “So, that’s pretty much it. That’s why we behave like that around each other, not because we were lovers, more because we became two idiotic brothers.”

Porthos never felt more relieved in his entire life, his relaxed face making Aramis smile. Which, of curse, made Porthos smack him, “Why wouldn’t you tell me this sooner?”

Aramis was now rubbing his head, giving him a rancorous look, “I don’t know. I didn’t think we would come across as a couple! To me she’s family, nothing more!”

Porthos glared at him, “You’re an idiot.”

Aramis, ever the unrepentant one, smiled again, “I know. Now,” he put back his mug in the sink, and reached for Porthos’s to do the same, “Can your idiot of a boyfriend, go back to the apologizing part of his previous speech?” Aramis’s eyes were now full of promises and thoughts that would’ve embarrassed a satire. Porthos mischievously smiled when his boyfriend straddled him on his stool, back against the kitchen countertop, “With pleasure.”

Aramis was determined to get Porthos’s neighbors to call the police this time. The charge?

Public nuisance.

 

* * *

 

 

Ok. Now, what was the conduct when having an unconscious, unidentified, definitely good looking, young bartender on his hands? Athos was trying to think. He though what his friends would do. He immediately ignored what Aramis would do, which would probably had been trying to kiss the boy awake. What else? Porthos would probably call Constance. Constance would smack every single one of them in the head and then she’d tried to wake the boy up, as the paramedics had said. So he did that, smacking part aside.

Athos laid the boy on one of the cushioned benches, put some pillows under his head, and started lightly shaking him, “Hey, wake up.” Nothing. He tried shaking him a little harder, “Hey, wake up. Boy, come on, open those eyes,” still nothing. He decided to try again, if he wouldn’t wake up he’d drove him to the nearest ER, he wasn’t having the boy on his conscience. When he reached for him again, he noticed a tag on his shirt, it said ‘Alexander’; great, at least he had a name now. “Hey, Alexander, come on, wake up!” At that, the boy actually moved, and started opening his eyes, muttering something. Athos couldn’t make a word out of it, “What?” he asked.

“Name’s not Alexander,” a slight accent, southern probably, told Athos that the boy wasn’t from nowhere around Paris.

“Oh, okay,” Athos paused, “So, what is it?”

“D’Artagnan.” Athos wanted to make a comment at that, but with his own name he couldn’t really be one to talk. So he went ahead, helping the boy, d’Artagnan, to get to sit with his back up.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, trying to check on the boy’s pupils.

“Like crap,” d’Artagnan was rubbing the back of his head, messing up his dark hair.

“Yeah, I figured that,” Athos smiled, “Where can I find some water? It’ll help, trust me.”

D’Artagnan looked curiously at him, “Behind the countertop,” Athos moved in that direction, “But I can take it, I’m not that bad!”

D’Artagnan moved to get up but a firm set of hands kept him on the bench, “Stay there. You’re lucky if you avoided a concussion, I’m not having you faint to the floor and cracking your head open for good.”

D’Artagnan wanted to protest but Athos prevented him, “Seriously. Stay there, rest. I’ll get you the water, don’t worry.”

Athos’s voice now was warmer but commanding and that made d’Artagnan finally shut up. He went back resting his head against the pillow and closed his eyes, waiting for Athos to come back with the water.

“Hey, no falling asleep!” Athos snapped his finger in front of the younger’s face.

D’Artagnan looked at him, “I was just resting my eyes, I swear.” Athos glared at him, not believing a word.

“Drink up, it’ll help,” Athos pointed to the glass of water he had put on the table. D’Artagnan grabbed it and slowly drank its content, when he was done he put it done and looked at Athos.

“So, who are you and why are you so familiar with head injuries?” Athos smiled and replied,

“I’m a policemen, lieutenant actually. My name is Athos,” at that d’Artagnan cocked an eyebrow, to which Athos responded with a laugh, “You’re one to talk, your name’s no better.”

“Yeah, my parents hated me,” the boy joked, “what’s your excuse?”

Athos could feel his smile fell, d’Artagnan suddenly understood that he touched a delicate spot, and immediately changed the topic.

“So, do you usually go around Paris, saving people from being beaten to a pulp, or is it just a one time thing?” That brought a smile back to Athos’s face, which made d’Artagnan smile back, “’cause if that’s a regular thing, you totally need a cape!”

At that image Athos actually burst out in laughter.

D’Artagnan decided he liked that sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I have to admit it, it was probably the fault of the slight hangover I was still feeling, but I had some problems writing the beginning of this chapter.  
> Still, considering that, as I said in one of the comments, I almost introduced the Cardinal's au version as... a cat.  
> The CAT-dinal, an evil black Persian, I'd call this chapter a win. It could've taken a complete different, alcohol oriented, direction.
> 
> Thank god I got better and now I'm fully back on track, writing the continue to d'Art and Athos's pov the chapter ended with.  
> They'll open next chapter, so, finally we'll get a lot more of that d'Art/Athos interaction we had a preview of, in this one. 
> 
> Oh, and I decided to further broaden my personal au police structure, so, the ranks now go:  
> Captain (Tréville)  
> First Lieutenant (Athos)  
> Lieutenants (Aramis, Porthos, Constance, Anne)  
> Officers/Agents
> 
> Hope you liked it!  
> Cheers people!


	6. And Then It Dawned

“I’m thinking cerulean,” d’Artagnan said pensively, “It’d go well with your eyes”.

Athos cocked an eyebrow at that, but preferred focusing on the first part of d’Artagnan’s phrase, “Cerulean? Who says cerulean?”

D’Artagnan smiled knowingly, aware of Athos’s deflection, “Well, when you work in high-end retail, apparently ‘blue’ is not an acceptable term to use to encompass all the shades of said color,” d’Artagnan continued, “I also have cobalt blue, klein blue, sapphire blue, azure blue, sky blue, pastel blue…” he went on listing some more, before Athos stopped him laughing.

“Ok ok, you know your colors, I got that,” at that d’Artagnan tilted his head in a bow like movement, “So, how did you end up from luxury retail to being a bartender?” Athos kept the conversation going to keep the boy awake, but he was actually feeling pretty curious about him.

D’Artagnan smiled, “Well, I switched tons of jobs, I’ve done a bit of everything actually,” he sipped some of the tea they had made to keep him hydrated, “Back home I used to help with pretty much every kind of job, I like people and don’t mind getting my hands dirty. I guess it’s an habit that stuck around, I kept working little jobs all through college, even if my father kept on telling me I didn’t need to.” D’Artagnan smiled wavered a bit there, still, he went on talking, “So, when I graduated, well, we could say I was going through a rough time, you know, stupid stuff so I just kept on bouncing from job to job, mostly because I would eventually get fired.” d’Artagnan smiled ironically, his light tone and pretended careless attitude not fooling Athos. He could tell when someone was trying to hid something from their past, hell he basically fucked up his entire life the year he graduated and he certainly didn’t like to even think about it, let alone talk about it.

“Well, you seem to having figured it out pretty fast, you seem okay now.” Athos tried moving from the past subject. At that, d’Artagnan looked sarcastically at the man, who realized what he just said, “Well, concussion aside I mean.”

D’Artagnan laughed a little, “Well, it took me something like two years, but I guess that could’ve been worse.”

Athos almost chocked on his tea, “What? How old… I mean, when did you graduate?” He tried to hide his surprise the best he could, but seriously, the boy looked no older than twenty, twenty-two at best.

D’Artagnan, the little bastard, smiled innocently, “I graduated when I was twenty-three, I’m twenty-six this year.”

Twenty-six. Had Athos been Aramis, he’d have cried in joy and thanked dear beloved god. Naturally, Athos being Athos, he simply nodded and acknowledged the fact, trying to cover the stupor with another question, “And what did you study?”

“Architecture and design at La Vilette. Partied three years straight.” Athos could tell d’Artagnan hadn’t took university easily as he wanted to show, but that wasn’t his business so he gave a smile, going along with what d’Artagnan had just said. The boy smiled and got up, to get some more tea, Athos glared at him, he shouldn’t seriously be going around on his feet, but d’Artagnan dismissively waved a hand. Well, Athos wasn’t his mother, so he let the younger men go get his tea and he sat more comfortable on the cushioned bench. D’Artagnan had been sitting straight for the past half hour and the wooden chair was seriously killing Athos’s back, so he really couldn’t see the harm in moving from one to the other.

When d’Artagnan came back, sitting two cups on the table, Athos noticed once again the name on d’Artagnan’s work shirt, “So, who’s Alexander?”

D’Artagnan was about to sit back on the bench and looked at him with a puzzled expression, “Who?”

Athos pointed to his chest, which made the dark haired man look down and, once again he was about to faint, “No, don’t do that!” Athos tried stopping him but d’Artagnan’s head was already spinning.

“Shit,” Athos caught the boy and helped him laying back on the bench, which, with Athos’s presence was now too short for the boy to lay comfortably. Athos tried to move out of the way, but d’Artagnan was basically resting all his weight on the older man, so Athos simply laid d’Artagnan’s head on his legs. The boy kept on holding his forehead, trying to stop it from spinning, so Athos didn’t even think and reached for d’Artagnan’s hands, getting them off the forehead and using his own to massage the boy’s temples. He had done it countless times on himself when he was younger, sometimes it’d be the only way to keep the hangover’s headaches at bay, until the painkillers would start to kick in. D’Artagnan slowly relaxed at the older man’s touch, his features relieved from pain and finally able to speak again, “Thank you.”

Athos realized he was still going and stopped, but d’Artagnan, eyes still closed, gave him a little smile, “Could you do that just for a bit more? It feels so good.”

Athos was suddenly not able to make a sound, his cheeks literally on fire, so he simply nodded and continued massaging the boy’s forehead. The two of them stayed like that until d’Artagnan, probably exhausted, eventually fell asleep. Athos smiled, he could let him rest for a while, he’d wake him up in a while. He tried slipping out of the boy’s light frame, but d’Artagnan half rolled and simply got more comfortable on Athos’s legs.

 _Oh well, screw it_.

Athos put a hand on d’Artagnan’s head and closed his eyes, one question going through his sleepy mind, why the hell was he so drawn to that boy?

 

* * *

 

 

“Porthos, do you ever have that sensation of something, somewhere, going terribly well?”

Porthos looked down at his boyfriend, Aramis was draped on his right side, naked and more beautiful than ever. He got distracted. “Sorry ‘Mis, what?”

Aramis gave him an amused look, “You know, the feeling of something going well somewhere in the world?”

Porthos looked at him, “Does the feeling of you screwing up something somewhere count?” He got an elbow in between his ribs as an answer.

“Ahah, you’re SO funny.” Porthos was still half laughing, half coughing one of his lungs out, when his eye fell on the nightstand clock, “What? It’s five-thirty?” Porthos couldn’t believe that.

Well, he _could_ believe that they had been able to go for hours without even realizing but still, for _four_ hours was actually remarkable. Not to mention rather uncomfortable, since their shift would be starting in five hours or so. The man groaned, turning towards Aramis, “Do me a favor and try to get some rest, if I have to go to tomorrow’s weekly briefing with not even five hours of sleep I might just kill myself.”

Aramis smiled and yawned at the same time, simply getting more comfortable on his boyfriend’s chest, “Yes, sir.”

Porthos relished in the feeling of his lover’s warm body on his own, he rested his arm around Aramis’s back and started slowly falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

When Constance woke up, the clock in Aramis’s living room showed it was almost six. She yawned and straightened her back, god was that couch comfortable! She got up, heading for Aramis’s bedroom, checking if the man had gotten back during the night. She quietly opened the door, no one there, she smiled. She headed back for the couch, went back under the light blanket and rapidly dozed off again.

Outside the windows of Aramis’s living room the sun was starting to rise, the clock stroke six and everyone, everywhere, was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voilà, some more d'Art/Athos.  
> Finally this long night came to an end for everyone, from next chapter we'll get a little bit more action from all the boys and girls.  
> Particularly from that idiot of Aramis and from that adorable little bastard who is d'Artagnan.  
> Anyway, hope you liked it.  
> As usual, unbeta'd and everything.  
> Tons of love for every single one of you.  
> Cheers,  
> Robbie


	7. It's A New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little warning: explicit sexual content.  
> It's in the general warnings, but since it's the first time we actually see some action I thought I may give an heads up.  
> Starting from this chapter sex may pop in to the story without warnings, so: reader discretion is advised.  
> See ya at the end!

When the first lights of the day started filtering through the café’s windows Athos woke up. He stretched his back and then remembered, d’Artagnan was still soundly asleep on his lap. Athos looked down to the boy, d’Artagnan was half curled up on the bench, head resting on Athos’s legs and he had his left hand was lightly placed on the older man’s inner tight. Athos suddenly felt very aware of the boy’s physical proximity, a rush of blood ran through him, which did not help with not thinking about d’Artagnan being basically splayed on the lower half of his body. Athos drew a long breath and took a look at the time on his watch, six fifteen, he should wake the boy up.

After the third failed attempt Athos started worrying, _please don’t be in a coma or something._ He tried shaking the boy awake this time, which apparently did the trick since d’Artagnan started moving and mumbling, half awake. Ok, he needed to stop nuzzling on his inner tight or he’d drive Athos insane, “D’Artagnan?” the boy nodded in answer. Athos almost chocked on his own saliva. Ok, this was becoming embarrassing, he wasn’t a thirteen years old, for god’s sake, he was turning thirty in a couple of weeks!

“D’Artagnan, come on, get up.” Athos tried again. This time d’Artagnan actually talked, trying to get his own hair out of his eyes and then rubbing them, “Yeah?”

Athos tried to not focus on the boy’s lips, it wouldn’t help his self control by a inch, “Come on pretty princess, time to rise and shine.” Athos also tried to cover his current status of mind with sarcasm, praying to god it would work.

“Hey, I’m a man, I’m not _pretty_.” Thanks god, d’Artagnan apparently hadn’t notice.

“Trust me, you’re still pretty.”

_Athos, you’re a fucking idiot._

Athos’s words had gotten out before he could even think about _not_ saying them. He stayed incredibly still for a couple of seconds, waiting for d’Artagnan’s reaction.

“Oh well, thank you then,” D’Artagnan winked to a rather shocked Athos, “You’re definitely not so bad yourself.” Then he got up from the bench and headed for the huge coffee machine behind the counter and started warming it up.

Athos was trying to figure out if he actually woke up or he was still dreaming. _Did he just accidentally flirted with d’Artagnan?_

_AND DID THE KID ACTUALLY JUST FLIRT BACK?_

As usual, somewhere in Paris, Constance felt the sudden urge to tell Athos he was an idiot.

 

* * *

 

 

Porthos rolled on his back, tangling himself in the bed sheets even more, and reached one arm on the other side of the bed, looking for his boyfriend’s body, which apparently was not there. He opened his eyes and got confirmation that Aramis was indeed not where he was supposed to be. When he was about to ask himself where he went, Porthos heard some noises coming from the kitchen. He got up in a sitting position and was about to get out of bed when Aramis walked back into the bedroom, wearing just his briefs and holding a tray in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Oh you marvelous thing.” Aramis smiled at his boyfriend and joined him on the bed.

“Well, I thought breakfast in bed would help you not killing Dijon at today’s morning briefing,” Aramis rested his back on the bed headboard.

“I was referring to your fashion choice for this morning,” Porthos raised an eyebrow, taking another appreciatory look to his boyfriend’s toned body, “but yes, crepes and coffee are appreciated too.”

Aramis laughed, “You’re unbelievable,” he gave his boyfriend a long and passionate kiss, “aren’t you ever satisfied?”

Porthos smirked, “Thanks to tonight’s activity I was,” he sipped some of his coffee, “right until you walked in wearing only twenty centimeters of fabric.”

“Sure, blame me,” Aramis tried to make a point, but Porthos’s lips were suddenly on his neck, “ngh…”

“You were saying?” Aramis could hear the smug in his boyfriend’s tone, “What? Cat got your tongue?” Aramis was the one about to smack him for once.

“Well, luckily he didn’t get mine.”

Before Aramis could even think about saying anything, Porthos’s lips had already trailed down his collarbone and were now heading straight down his navel, Aramis let out a highly indecent moan.

Porthos’s hands were now lowering his briefs, leaving him completely naked under his boyfriend’s touch. The man kept on teasing Aramis, nuzzling his inner thighs with his nose, darting his tongue just around the pulsing erection of his boyfriend; not satisfied by driving the man insane, Porthos decided to bit on the tender skin. That was it.

Aramis grabbed Porthos by the neck and got the man all over his own body, kissing him stupid while his hand went for his boyfriend’s boxers. Once he got those out of the way, Aramis switched their position, straddling Porthos to the bed with a wicked smile. He reached for the tube they left on the nightstand the night before and started preparing himself. Porthos tried to reach for him but Aramis swatted his hand away, not allowing him to touch him. The mere sight was about to drive Porthos insane. Perfectly aware of his boyfriend’s current status, Aramis took his time, enjoying the sight of Porthos’s broad chest rising and lowering faster and faster, relishing in the feeling of being the reason for that. Once he felt properly ready, Aramis reached for Porthos’s cock, making him twitch at the contact, his eyes focused on his boyfriend’s, he started lowering himself on him. Porthos let out a low, rough, sound, almost a growl of pleasure. Aramis, ever the tease, took his time, lowering himself on Porthos inch by inch. Oh, he was going to pay for that, he knew it, still, he couldn’t help but enjoy doing it. When Porthos was finally inside of him, Aramis started moving. It couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds that Porthos had reversed their position again, and was now standing over Aramis’s body. He continued moving slowly, enjoying the feeling of being inside Aramis, who, eager to feel more, bit on Porthos’s ear. Porthos knew his boyfriend, and needn’t be told twice: he suddenly increased his speed, making Aramis moan so loud he had to go back and kiss him, before they’d traumatize the entire building. Still, with the way Aramis was moving under him, Porthos couldn’t last much longer, so he took his erection in his hand and started stroking him with the same pace he was thrusting in Aramis. They both came with the other’s name on their lips. Porthos rested his weight on his elbows, trying not to smother Aramis under his own body, and was trying to steady his breath and heart rate. Aramis leaned up for a kiss, embracing his boyfriend, who gave in and let himself lay over Aramis’s body. They were both so comfortable in each other’s arms that they didn’t even realize they were falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

“So I need a one week leave, would that be possible, sir?”

_He gave d’Artagnan his number. Why the fuck did Athos give him his number?_

“Sir?” Athos suddenly remembered he was actually working at the moment, so he pushed back the thought and tried refocusing on the man standing in front of him, “Yes?”

The agent looked puzzled, but repeated what he had just said.

He didn’t even realize what he was doing ‘till he had already scribbled his number on the café’s napkin and d’Artagnan winked at him, slipping it in his apron’s pocket.

“Sir?”

Athos had gotten lost in thought again and had absolutely no idea what the agent had been telling him, so he simply nodded, to which the man replied with a smile and a cheerful ‘thank you, sir’ before leaving Athos’s office.

What the hell did he just agree on?

He groaned and covered his face with his hands and, after staying like that for a while, he got up and headed to the conference room, where Trèville would be doing his usual weekly morning briefing. On his way there he tripped once on his own feet and almost ran into the room’s closed glass doors. God, as Aramis usually said: he seriously needed to get his shit together. Speaking of which, where the hell was Aramis?

 

* * *

 

 

“A twenty on Aramis walking through the doors with a _Trèville’s_ cup and Athos shooting him on the spot.” Constance shot a disapproving look to her friend, shaking her head, “When Athos is going to kill him,” she didn’t even bothered saying ‘if’, “It’s going to be personal. He’s going to choke him or smother him with a pillow,” she concluded, with a knowing look.

Anne considered what Constance had just said for a minute or two, and eventually agreed with her when she saw both Aramis and Porthos rush in from the station’s front door, disheveled hair and all, “And it’s probably going to be in less than ten minutes.”

Constance turned in time to see Aramis getting into the conference room with an epic case of sex hair and Porthos following him, desperately trying to hide what looked like a huge hickey right under his left ear.

This was going to be a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just say that Athos being an idiot around that little bastard of d'Artagnan is probably my favorite thing ever.  
> Nothing else to add. As usual unbeta'd and everything.  
> Love all around!


	8. The City of Blinding Lights

Athos was starting to seriously consider the idea of jumping from one of the many bridges of Paris, right into the Seine, and be done with it. That day had almost killed him. Between Aramis being Aramis and basically giving Trèville a fit with the way he showed up at the briefing, Porthos disappearing in one of the offices after having muttered something about paperwork, Anne breaking a guy’s arm for the umpteenth time that month… they were driving him insane! It had to be said that Anne was probably the most guiltless one of them all, the idiot had called her a cunt while she was arresting him, in Athos’s opinion the idiot had it coming and should consider himself lucky to have gotten away with just one broken arm. Still, they managed to keep his mind busy and away from the recurrent thought of his previous night. He had just decided to follow Porthos’s example and go through some paperwork himself, and was halfway through the first of many reports, when his phone buzzed.

_‘I’m considering giving people decaf without them knowing. Is either that, or arsenic.’_

Athos couldn’t help but laugh, the phone buzzed again.

_‘Shift’s over, thanks god. How was your day?’_

Athos hesitated, should he answer? Or he shouldn’t?

_‘I’ll keep texting you until you reply, you might as well do it now.’_

That little brat, Athos started tapping on his screen.

_‘You’re aware that’s premeditated murder, aren’t you?’_

_‘Meh, trust me, they wouldn’t be missed. Surely not by me.’_

The reports completely forgot on the table, Athos was now leaning on his chair with his feet propped up on the desk, tapping on his phone with a smile.

_‘Still, please don’t kill anyone. This day has been long enough as it is, I really don’t need to come there and arrest you for murder.’_

_‘I have to say I don’t mind the thought of you with handcuffs,’_ Athos blushed seventy-five shades of red, ‘ _But yeah, I promise I won’t kill anyone for the foreseeable future.’_

Athos smiled, _‘Well, the Paris administration thanks you for that.’_

_‘They’re most welcome. But, you were saying, long day?’_

Athos groaned, remembering the pile of work he still had, he tapped on the phone _‘Yeah, and it’s not over yet.’_

The answer came back quickly, _‘Why not?’_

 _‘I still have to finish a mountain of paperwork, it’s probably going to take me all night.’_ Athos was waiting d’Artagnan to make some joke about being busy all night, but the phone was silent. He had almost gave up and was about to get back to work, when his phone’s screen lit up.

_‘Ditch it.’_

The phone buzzed again.

_‘Go out with me.’_

Athos was out of his office before he could even think to change his mind.

 

* * *

 

D’Artagnan smiled at Athos’s last reply, _‘Where do I find you?’_

He took a picture of the building in front of him, hit send and leaned against one of the street lamps. He couldn’t help smiling like an idiot, he hadn’t been sure Athos would have played along and d’Artagnan was more than happy that he did.

He had been thinking about it, him, all day, Athos interested him, he wasn’t just unbelievably fascinating, there was something about him that made d’Artagnan wanting to make him smile, to hear him talk, to just be around him, and of course, jump his bones. D’Artagnan could manage to resist that. what he couldn’t resist to was his desire to see the man. He had waited to text him all day, wanting to take it slow, but eventually ended up with asking him out that very evening, he just couldn’t wait an hour more.

D’Artagnan laughed at himself, god, he sounded like a teenager. Still, it didn’t make it any less true, there was something in Athos that he was drawn to, just as there was something in him that made d’Artagnan decide to handle this, whatever it might be, with care, lots of it.

He was still lost in thought when he felt someone touching his shoulder, he turned and the smile on his face outshined all the lights of the Hôtel de Ville. 

 

* * *

 

 

_God, aren’t you just beautiful?_

D’Artagnan looked just charming in the lights of the Hotel de Ville, in jeans and a t-shirt, holding a leather jacket in his hands.

“Hey, you’ve made it!” Athos smiled and nodded, “I actually don’t work far from here.”

D’Artagnan gave him another smile, “Good for me then,” he winked, “Come on, let’s move.”

They started walking towards the Seine, making small talks and just enjoying each other company. They had just reached the banks of the river and started crossing Pont d’Arcole, “So, how’s your head feeling?”

D’Artagnan shrugged his shoulders, resting his back against the bridge’s bannister, “Fine, I can barely feel it actually, I just need to be careful when in the shower,” Athos raised an eyebrow and the younger man explained, “There’s a bump here,” he touched the back of his head and tried showing it to Athos, “See?”

Athos tried to, but they had just passed a street lamp and d’Artagnan’s dark hair didn’t help, he was about to just nod when the boy took his hand and placed it on the point he was talking about a second before. Ok, now Athos could feel the swelling, which surely had to hurt, and, almost automatically started caressing d’Artagnan’s neck. The boy didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t enjoying it, he leaned more comfortably on the bannister and closed his eyes, almost purring under Athos’s warm touch.

“So, I was in the shower this morning, washing my head,” d’Artagnan resumed, “and I almost passed out when I accidentally rubbed on that.” Athos smiled and shook his head, “Do you think you can go for more than twenty four hours without passing out for some reason?”

He had just finished the sentence that d’Artagnan let out a small hiss, making Athos stop caressing his neck, “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” A worried expression on his face.

D’Artagnan just smiled and shook his head, “Quite the opposite actually.” Athos couldn’t help but laugh back, “You’re such a flirt!”

The boy replied with a wink, “You have no idea,” and moved from the banister, taking Athos’s hand in his own.

“You mind? I don’t feel very good, I may pass out at any moment.”

Athos cocked an eyebrow, “Does that line actually work on anyone?”

“I’m holding your hand, aren’t I?”

That effectively shut Athos up for a second. He quickly recovered, “You really are something, you know?”

D’Artagnan smiled mischievously at that, “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

They both laughed and started walking west, towards Pont Neuf, still holding hands. D’Artagnan gave Athos a look, wanting to make sure he was okay with it.

For a second Athos considered not being okay with it, taking his leave and rushing back home. Then he considered something else: he _was_ okay with it. He lightly squeezed d’Artagnan’s hand, receiving back one of those bright smiles he was growing rapidly so fond of.

 

* * *

 

“He’s not answering his phone.”

Constance gave Aramis a dirty look, “Have you considered that maybe he’s probably just still pissed off about this morning?”

Aramis thought about it for a couple of seconds, than shook his head, “Naaah, it’s not like him. He’s more of a sending me to write parking tickets for a month kind of guy.”

Constance sighed, “Well, he has a life, you know?” At that, everyone in the room looked at her, at exactly the same time, with the exact same ‘Are we still talking about Athos’ look.

Aramis was the first to talk, “He just got divorced, he’s planning not to speak to his family for the rest of his fucking life, possibly even after, and last time I checked, we were his only four friends.”

“Well, can’t argue with that,” Porthos answered, “Still, he was tired today, maybe he just went home and dozed off.”

“Maybe he’s on a hot date.” Everybody stared at Anne, who shrugged, “What? It’d be about time!”

Anne didn’t know two things about what she had just said, first: she was, oh so right; second: Aramis thought so too, and decided to do something about it. He was time for Athos to go on a date!

 

* * *

 

Two miles away, in the middle of the Tuileries Gardens, Athos shivered.

“Hey, you cold?” d’Artagnan asked him, noticing the movement. Athos shook his head, “No, just a feeling,” he paused, turning towards d’Artagnan, “I feel rather good at the moment, thank you.”

D’Artagnan smiled and they continued walking and talking. The night was warm and Paris was gorgeous, with all its life and lights. They walked around for hours, taking turns talking, about d’Artagnan’s youth in Gascony, Athos’s time at the Academy, basically getting to know each other.

When they passed the Orsay Museum, on their way back, d’Artagnan told Athos that his father brought him there once, that it was one of his favorite memories of him. Athos just nodded, understanding the meaning behind the younger man’s words.

“How long ago?”

D’Artagnan looked up at the sky, trying to keep his eyes dry, “Three years in September.”

Athos couldn’t imagine the pain, he never had an actual relationship with any member of his family, so he just nodded, squeezing d’Artagnan’s hand.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bring you down.” D’Artagnan apologized and Athos was about to kick him. “Are you kidding? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You lost someone you loved, you’re allowed to grieve, and don’t you even think about apologizing. Ever.” D’Artagnan smiled at him and Athos continued, “He was your father and you loved him, it’s not something everyone has, cherish that.”

D’Artagnan rubbed his eyes a little, getting them dry, “I gather you don’t have a great relationship with yours.” Athos paused for a second and d’Artagnan feared he had said one word too many, but the older man just shrugged, “It’s a long story really, let’s just say I’d dance on the man’s grave and that, when he’ll have one, I actually will.”

“And I’d say that with this we can close the sharing tragic stories part of the evening?” Athos laughed at d’Artagnan’s words, “Yeah, we most definitely can. Also, with all these walking, we ended up right under my place.” He pointed at a building’s door, some ten meters further.

They reached the door and Athos took his keys out, d’Artagnan looked at him and then at the door behind him, “This is your place?”

Athos knit his brows, “Yes, why?”

“Just wanted to make sure it was your door I was kissing you goodnight in front of.”

It took Athos a couple of seconds to actually factor that information in.

By the time he had, d’Artagnan was standing just a few inches from him, he could see the silent question in his eyes. This time Athos didn’t even think about bolting, he just reached for d’Artagnan’s neck and drew him closer.

 

* * *

 

 

Athos’s lips were oh so soft. His touch was gentle but firm and d’Artagnan couldn’t help running his fingers through his hair. He took his time, savoring Athos’s mouth, exploring it, biting his lower lip before parting to breathe again. He was about to take a step back when Athos dragged him right back into another kiss, deeper and wanting. D’Artagnan tried not to push it, he remembered deciding to handle this thing with care, but then Athos lowered his hands on d’Artagnan’s hipbones, drawing him even closer and, at that, d’Artagnan lost it.

He pushed the older man against the door, intensifying their kisses, his hands now running free on Athos’s upper body. He didn’t know how Athos managed to get the door opened, but he apparently did. They rushed through the atrium and gotten into the elevator, in which Athos almost drove d’Artagnan insane with their last kiss.

He needed to feel Athos’s skin on his own, now.

 

Athos miraculously managed to get his apartment’s door open and he shoved d’Artagnan right in. He didn’t even have the time to close the door that d’Artagnan had already pushed him against said door. His lips running on his neck, tongue darting, making Athos moan in pleasure. D’Artagnan’s body was moving all over his own, risking to drive him out of his mind with desire. He just couldn’t take it anymore, he took d’Artagnan by his jacket’s collar and dragged him to the bedroom, their mouths never parting.

  

When d’Artagnan felt the bed behind his legs he let himself fall on it, dragging Athos down with him. He got rid of Athos’s jacket and shirt in a matter of seconds, unable to stay another second without feeling the man’s burning skin under his fingers. Apparently he wasn’t the only one, Athos peeled the jacket off him and his t shirt followed right after. D’Artagnan dragged Athos down on him, the feeling of their skin touching giving him shivers of pleasure. They both got rid of their shoes and climbed more comfortably on the bed, where d’Artagnan got Athos to lay on the bed and started kissing him on the neck and heading lower, leaving a trail of kisses all over his upper body. Athos though his skin was on fire where the younger man had kissed him, he could feel his warm breath on his hipbones now and when d’Artagnan kissed the front fabric of his trousers, feeling his erection with his mouth, he thought he might just pass out.

D’Artagnan opened his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, taking them off and throwing them on the floor, leaving Athos in just his briefs. He went back kissing and licking Athos, slightly teasing him, but mostly enjoying the feeling of the older man shivering in pleasure. Athos drew him back up and kissed him deeply and passionately before asking, “Are you sure?”

He had to do it, he couldn’t stand the thought of the younger men waking up in the morning, regretting what he had done. Athos was already way much in to it, but it would have hurt less not having him than seeing him walk away for good in the morning.

D’Artagnan simply looked at him and got up, for a moment Athos felt lost, but then D’Artagnan unfastened his belt, took his jeans off, and was now standing in only his boxers, all without ever taking his eyes off Athos’s. He crawled back into bed, kissing him again and again, his hands running free on Athos’s naked body.

 

When Athos asked him if he had been sure, it hadn’t been the words to shake d’Artagnan, it had been the tone. It was the tone of a scared child, the tone of someone not wanting to be hurt. D’Artagnan felt like an idiot, a fucking idiot. He knew he had to be careful, to handle Athos with care, he felt that he was, at some level, broken. And what did he do? He jumped in his bed, wanting to fuck his brains out.

_Good fucking job, d’Artagnan._

So he did the only thing he could do, he tried to make Athos understand that he wasn’t going to do anything or go anywhere Athos didn’t want to. He got down to his boxers, crawled back into bed and started kissing and caressing Athos.

When he felt Athos relaxing, d’Artagnan opened his mouth, “I’m warning you, I’m an honest men. I don’t sleep with a guy on the first date.”

Athos couldn’t help laughing at his fake serious tone, “Oh, yeah,” he cocked an eyebrow in the dark, “I could totally tell that from the way your almost naked body is pressed against mine.”

D’Artagnan nodded and Athos could imagine his face assuming a serious expression, “Precisely.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Athos couldn’t help but say, with a smile on his face. At that, d’Artagnan rested his head on the man’s shoulder.

“Yeah, and you like that about me,” he answered.

Athos nodded, kissing the top of the younger man’s head, “I actually do.”

“I know. Now get some rest, we have all the time in the world, don’t worry.” Something in d’Artagnan’s tone made Athos not doubt his words, trusting him with them, so he opened his left arm, inviting the younger man to rest on his chest.

D’Artagnan got more comfortable on Athos’s chest and draped an arm on his waist. Athos wrapped an arm around d’Artagnan, lifting the blanket over the both of them. They slowly drifted into a peaceful sleep, holding on to each other, with the same exact relaxed smile on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you all seen tonight's episode? I surely hope you did 'cause it was freaking awesome.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this load of d'Art and Athos being their two adorable selves around each other, because I surely loved writing them.  
> I just can't get enough of them, I had to force myself to stop writing at some point.
> 
> On another note, Aramis's evil mind is at work, which makes me weep for poor Athos.
> 
> Ok, it's bloody three in morning here and I'm dead tired so I'll just crawl into bed.  
> Hope you liked the chapter, which was, as usual, unbeta'd and all that.  
> Lots of love to everyone!


	9. Calm Before The Storm

Athos could have gotten used to waking up like that. D’Artagnan was nuzzling his neck and lazily caressing him, yeah, Athos could have gotten used to wake up like that. With his eyes still closed he placed a kiss on d’Artagnan’s head, “What time is it?”

The younger man moved pleasantly in Athos’s embrace, “Much too early,” he groaned, “I got to get to café for the first shift.”

Athos was nowhere near the state of mind to let the boy get out that warm tangle of bodies, “I’ll drive you,” he offered. D’Artagnan did try to refuse, but eventually gave up when Athos started lazily kissing him, not managing to find the resolution to get away from those lips.

They kept on kissing and rolling in the sheets for the following hour, before eventually getting up and ready to go out. When Athos dropped d’Artagnan off at the café, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Sure they spent a good night together, but they actually had known each other for no more than three days!

Luckily d’Artagnan was on his way to rob Aramis of the title of “Cockiest man in Paris”, so the boy quickly kissed Athos before getting out of the car, heading for the café, yelling him that they’d see each other that evening.

Athos watched the young man open the café’s door, tripping on his own feet while turning one last time to cheerfully wave Athos goodbye. He couldn’t help but smiling, he was already missing that idiot. He slowly got back into the morning traffic and headed for the police station.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you even listening to me?”

Truth to be told, Aramis was indeed _not_ listening to Constance. He was going through the list of people with he could set up Athos on a date.

“But of course my beloved Constance, I was absolutely listening to you.” Aramis threw in a charming smile, hoping it would help. Constance glared at him, “You have no idea what I was talking about, haven’t you?”

Aramis tried remembering something from before he got lost in his thoughts, failing miserably.

“Zero.”

Constance sighed, “I said he seemed cheerful this morning.”

Aramis was at complete loss, “Who seemed cheerful?”

That was it. Constance smacked Aramis’s head with the file folder she had been holding, “Athos, you idiot! We were talking about him three seconds ago!”

Aramis rubbed his head, looking like a kicked puppy, “You’re mean.”

Constance was about to smack him again when Anne barge into the office they were in, “What has gotten into Athos?” The particular emphasis in her voice made them raise their eyebrows in question.

She went in and started talking, “An intern just ran into him with something like nine hundred folders in her hands, and he…”

“Oh my god, he killed her.” That was Aramis. The following sound was Constance smacking Aramis.

“Please tell me he didn’t completely crush the kid’s soul.” That was Constance, actually worried Athos had eaten the poor intern alive. He got better in recent times, but he wasn’t famous for being the most easygoing person on earth and, along with Aramis, clumsy interns had always been the bane of Athos’s existence.

“Let me finish. No, he told the kid it had been _his_ fault.” The room fell silent with shock.

“And helped her picking the folders up.” Aramis was looking at her like she had just told them she saw tiny green aliens walking around Paris.

“Are you sure? Maybe he was drunk.” Anne was about to throw something at him when Porthos walked in, “I saw it too,” Anne nodded grateful, “and he also told her not to worry and relax.”

“He’s drunk.” Everybody glared at Aramis.

“Come on, that’s not normal! Athos is never that nice at bloody eight o’clock in the morning.”

Porthos was the first to try, “Maybe that piece of work of his ex wife finally decided to free us all and die of some horrible death.”

Yeah, Porthos could literally never stand Athos’s ex, she had been one of the few people he genuinely hated with all his heart. Aramis crossed himself at the mere name, in his opinion that woman was bound to burn in hell, along with the rest of Athos’s family.

“One can only hope.” Everyone nodded in agreement.

Constance tried again, “Maybe he slept incredibly well...”

“Yeah, with his hot date.” And that sarcastic tone, once again as right as it gets, was Anne.

That made everybody laugh for a good minute, just the time to allow Athos to peek into the room, “Hey, ‘Mis,” the man almost fell from the chair he was slouched on.

“Yeah Athos?” He was going to kill him this time, he was sure of it. Aramis started mentally repeating his last prayers, ready for his destiny, when Athos simply answered, “That report I assigned you last week,” everybody held their breath, “give it to me tomorrow morning, I won’t need it tonight.”

Athos might have realized he had just shocked the entire room, if it hadn’t been for his phone buzzing at that precise moment. He took it out from his pocket, took a look, smiled and, without taking his eyes off it, continued talking, “Ok ‘Mis? Thank you.” And then he just walked out of the room.

Anne was looking at the others, “See? What did I tell you?”

It was Aramis who answered first, “I have no idea what’s going on, but believe me: I am going to find out.”

The tone of his voce made Constance and Porthos sigh at the same time, they knew that tone and they also knew it didn’t bode well. For anyone.

They just prayed it would end better than last time they heard it. Oh well, what could possibly be worse than Aramis getting stuck, naked, on the roof of the police station?

 

* * *

 

 

Anne was printing out the last of the reports of the day when she ran out of paper. She headed to the supply closet, next to the station’s entrance, to get some more. She just got into the closet, looking for the paper, when she heard a familiar voice outside. She suddenly went very still.

“I am looking for First Lieutenant Athos. Is he in?”

That voice. She would recognize it everywhere. That woman. She quickly drew her phone from her pocket, dialing the number for the station’s lobby. She heard the phone ringing and the agent stationed there telling the woman to wait.

“Fifth Arrondissement Police Station. How can I help you?”

Anne kept her voice low, “This is Agent Valois. Lieutenant Athos just left note not to be disturbed for the rest of the day.”

The agent took notice, thanked her and hung up. Anne held her breath, hoping her trick would work, it was almost seven, Athos wouldn’t miss much. She heard the agent telling the woman that the Lieutenant was not available at the moment, did she want to leave a message?

Anne crossed her fingers.

“No.”

Then she heard the woman heading down the stairs, out of the station.

Anne silently thanked every divinity in existence.

Now, what the hell was the she-devil doing there?

She needed to get to Aramis, and she needed to do that now.

 

* * *

 

When the doorbell rang, Porthos was laying on Aramis’s couch, reading a book and enjoying the ice tea Aramis had made before heading out to the grocery store. He got up and went to the door, stopping to look from the peephole. When he saw Anne, still in her uniform, he furrowed his brows and opened the door.

“Hey Anne. Sorry, but 'Mis just went out.”

She cursed under her breath, “I’ve been calling him for the past hour!” Porthos turned and saw Aramis’s phone on the kitchen countertop, “He left it here,” he turned back to Anne, realizing she was looking rather upset, “Is everything ok?”

Anne took a second thinking what to do, then she answered, “Do you mind if I come in?”

Porthos shook his head and moved from the door’s frame, letting her through the entrance.

She went in, dropped her bag and started pacing around the living room. Porthos was the one she was less close to, and he probably wasn’t eager to be talking about something so delicate with her. Still, this was about Athos, not herself, so she set her hesitation aside and sucked it up. She needed to talk with someone, and Porthos cared about Athos, she knew that.

The man was back on the couch, waiting for Anne to get around what it was she wanted to do.

“I know we’re not exactly best friends, but Aramis is not here and I need to tell this to someone.” Anne waited for the man’s reaction.

Porthos felt the serious tone in the woman’s voice and nodded, “Of course, I’m listening.”

Anne sighed and started talking, “Athos looks better lately, doesn’t he?”

Porthos didn’t have the time to answer, Anne had already started talking again, “He looks better. He’s more relaxed, he’s starting to be _our_ Athos again,” the last phrase was pronounced with a sort of fury, “I am not letting that bitch ruin this. She made him miserable long enough.”

Porthos was now paying her complete attention, “What’s going on Anne?”

She stopped, looking at Porthos, “She was at the station today.”

Porthos closed his eyes, praying heaven and hell, hoping he wasn’t about to hear the name he hoped not to hear ever again.

“Milady was at the station.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, this turned out being a filler chapter.  
> I needed to give the kids one last day (and one last night) of peace before throwing Milady into the mix.  
> I was having trouble managing to get the idea out of my mind and on the screen, I've been trying to write this chapter for two days and kept on failing. Finally I gave up and made a filler, not my favorite thing to do, but it was the only way to get the fucking block out of the way.   
> So, the story got back on track and so did I.  
> Next chapter we get things going and lots of stuff is bound to happen.  
> Thank you all.  
> Cheers!


	10. Let The Storm Rage On

Constance was idly laying in the bathtub, relaxing after the long day at work. Peaceful music echoed through her apartment, she could hear life going on in the apartments around her and she was about to drift off and rest in the warm water, when her phone started ringing.

The display showed Porthos’s smiling face, so she took a towel to dry her hands and picked up, “This better be worth it.”

Porthos’s voice didn’t show any amusement, “Come to Aramis’s. It’s about Milady.”

“Is Athos okay?” The concern in her voice was evident.

“He doesn’t know.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she hung up.

A wave of pure rage ran through Constance. Oh no, not this time. Whatever it was, Constance would have put an end to it before it could do any damage. She allowed that woman to ruin her friend’s life once, this time she’d have her head. She got out and dressed in a matter of moments, it hadn’t been ten minutes and she was already in her car, heading for Aramis’s place. A light rain started falling down, slowing traffic a little. She started thinking back at the last time she had sat behind a wheel, with panic in her heart, racing to get to Aramis’s. She had still been in the academy back then, she had ran all the way from there, stopping only once she got inside Aramis’s apartment.

She remembered getting in, seeing a wrecked Athos, sleep deprived and exhausted out of his mind, sitting there and simply staring at empty space. She remembered noticing broken things all around the place and Aramis’s broken lips told her she had missed the worst part of that night. So she just sat next to Athos, drawing him in her arms and letting him cry himself asleep, while listening to all his explanations and not needed apologies.

That had been Athos, the rock of their grop, the strongest one of them, the shoulder everyone counted on. And that woman had almost broke him for good, while his family stood there, watching.

Constance drove faster.

 

* * *

 

 

Athos was currently sitting on of the benches of the Luxembourg Gardens, waiting for d’Artagnan who had gone getting them ice cream from one of the carts going around the park. He could see the young man joking with a little girl and her mother while he waited for his turn. Athos couldn’t help but smiling at the sight, there was something about d’Artagnan that jus made him feel good. It might have been the kid’s never-ending cheerful mood, or his tendency to smile like it was Christmas morning all the time, or also his absolute lack of worry about being his complete self. Yeah, that was it, Athos decided. It wasn’t just his character, or his obvious beauty, Athos felt attracted to, it was the fact that d’Artagnan didn’t ever seem to feel sorry for being who he was.

Athos had spent so much time being someone he wasn’t, the son his parents wanted him to be, the husband Clarisse shaped him into being, that he couldn’t help but seek out someone like d’Artagnan. D’Artagnan felt like wind, blowing into his ashes, bringing him back to being someone he thought he had lost. He smiled once again, to himself this time, feeling good like he hadn’t in a very long time.

That was the moment d’Artagnan had chosen to manage to trip and end up with one of the two cones all over his white t-shirt. Athos did try not to laugh his ass off, but failed miserably when he saw the younger man’s sad puppy expression, looking at the fallen cone as one would at a fallen comrade.

D’Artagnan finally heard him laughing and reached him, glaring at him, “I just almost break my neck and you’re laughing?”

Athos managed to talk through the hilarity, “Come on, you didn’t even fell. You just tripped,” he stopped, helpless to contain the laughs, “and got ice cream all over yourself.” He managed to finish the sentence before breaking into another laugh.

D’Artagnan was considering throwing him the other cone, just for the sake of shutting him up. He must have showed the intention, ‘cause Athos raised his hands, protecting himself, “Don’t you even think about it.” The boy considered the idea with a wicked smile, but eventually gave up and reached for a kiss, to which Athos gladly agreed. When they separated, d’Artagnan gave the cone to the other man, “Here, take it. I’ll go trying to wash some of the stain off and I’ll get myself another one.” He gave Athos a peck on the lips and headed towards one of the many drinking fountains scattered all throughout the Luxembourg Gardens.

He had just finished his cone, and was watching at d’Artagnan getting himself soaked in the attempt of washing his t-shirt, when he heard a voice coming from behind him.

“Long time no see, Olivier.”

And it sounded just like the ghost of his past.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell does that bitch want from him now?” Constance was out of her mind with rage, “She almost cost him his mental health, not to mention what he had to give up to get rid of her. Why can’t she just get ran over or something? I’d be glad to help.”

Not a single one of them could disagree with the woman, who was now pacing up and down Aramis’s apartment, like a caged animal.

Porthos tried to reason, make sense of what was going on, “He did meet with the lawyer last week, to sign the final papers, maybe it’s about that.”

Aramis considered the possibility, and discarded it, “But why now? She hasn’t shown her face in over a year, she had moved to one of Athos family’s house outside Paris. Why would she want to see him now?”

Constance chimed in, “To make his life miserable. She’s just that terrible, she can’t stand to see Athos go on with his life after he told them all to go screw themselves.”

Anne stopped her, “No. Trust me, that’s not it. I know people like her, hell, I lived amongst them for the greatest part of my life. She has a motive and, whatever that is, it’s not good news for Athos.”

They kept on thinking, trying to find reasons behind the woman’s behavior, and at the same time, how to stop her from getting to Athos.

Too bad they didn’t know she already had.

 

* * *

 

 

“Clarisse.”

Athos went very still, keeping an eye on d’Artagnan’s figure in the distance, not watching Clarisse moving from behind him.

“What do you want?” His voice was firm and steady, compensating for the inner turmoil he was feeling. He could hear her smiling, he once enjoyed her smile and now felt just as false and dishonest as she was. “Is that any way to greet your wife?”

Athos shuddered at the word, “You’re my ex-wife. I signed the papers last week. I got rid of you. Do me the favor and stay gone.”

The man moved to get up, but Clarisse stopped him with her right hand around his arm.

“Trust me, you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

And that was when Athos turned and actually saw her. His eyes quickly dropping to her stomach, his brain refusing to factor in the information the eyes were sending.

Clarisse had her right hand resting on top of her swollen belly, a soft curve under her palm and a feline smile on her face when she talked.

“It’s been a long time indeed, isn’t it? Eight months I’d say, give it or take.”

Athos froze, his mind running back to the last time they had seen each other. It had been a mistake. He had been so inebriated that when he woke up in the morning he couldn’t recall a thing about the night they had spent together. He just remembered crawling out the place they lived in for the past two years and never looking back.

Athos felt like he was about to throw up.

That was the moment he heard d’Artagnan calling his name, he didn’t realize the man had come back. He looked at him, without actually seeing him, and then realized he was actually talking to him. Athos tried snapping out from the shock, “Sorry, what was that?”

D’Artagnan gave him a dubious look, “Nothing, I was just saying ‘hi’.”

Athos didn’t have time to reply, Clarisse had started talking, “Well. It’s been nice running into you, Olivier. And your,” she paused, giving d’Artagnan a smug look, “friend.”

D’Artagnan decided he did not like her.

“I will be in touch. Have a nice evening.”

And just like that, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Milady makes her entrance and move.   
> In all her bitchiness.  
> Hope you've enjoyed her.  
> Cheers!


	11. Blood Doesn't Make Family

Athos felt the earth spinning under his feet. He let himself fall back on the bench.

“Athos, are you okay?”

D’Artagnan waved a hand in front of Athos’s face, with no response from the man. He did it another couple of times, without any appreciable result. That was when d’Artagnan started to worry.

“Hey! Look at me!” He cupped the other man’s face with his hands, “Athos, look at me. I’m right here, talk to me.”

That seemed to pass through, Athos actually snapped out of his shell-shocked state, “D’Artagnan…”

The younger man nodded, “Yes, it’s me. What’s going on, who was that woman?”

Athos was muttering intelligibly, d’Artagnan managed to make some of the words out, but couldn’t quite grasp the entire sentences.

“Athos, slow down, what are you saying?”

“Home. I need to go home.” He got up and started heading to his place, actually not far from there, a feverish look in his eyes.

D’Artagnan stopped him right away, a resolved tone in his voice, “You’re not going anywhere like that.”

Athos gave him a look, “Step back. I am not in my right mind, don’t make me do something stupid.” D’Artagnan didn’t even flinch, “Exactly, you’re not in your right mind. So, either you snap back to yourself and tell me what’s going on, so I can help you, or you can try to get rid of me and we both end up in the hospital. Your choice.”

Thanks god for the proverbial Gascon stubbornness, the little speech seemed to have knocked some sense into Athos. D’Artagnan was still looking at him, a cocked eyebrow, his body tensed, waiting for the older man’s response.

Athos stopped, trying to think for a second, he knew d’Artagnan was right, he suppressed his initial impulse to go back home and drink himself into oblivion. Still, he needed to do something to process this, it was about to drive him completely insane. He had been in that place before, and he didn’t have any intention of going back there, he remembered what happened last time and he didn’t want it to happen ever again. So he sighed, knowing what he had to do.

He pinched his nose, “D’Artagnan, I know you’re concerned, but this is some serious messy business. We’ve known each other for what, four days? You don’t have to do this, you can walk away.”

The young man simply looked at him, “Yeah, sure. Like that’s gonna happen.” His sarcastic tone switched to a more caring one, “If you don’t mind me to, I’m here to stay, Athos.” The older man felt a warm feeling at d’Artagnan’s words, “Now, do I need to punch you, or will you tell me what the hell is going on already?”

Athos couldn’t help but smile a little, that kid was definitely something.

He looked at d’Artagnan, in his wet white t-shirt and leather jacket, “Aramis is going to have a field day with this one.”

The boy looked at him, lost but relieved by Athos being himself again, “Who’s Aramis?”

Athos took him by the hand, “The living proof of god’s perverse sense of humor,” when d’Artagnan stared at him like he had lost his mind he gave him a reassuring look, “I’ll explain everything on the cab. Now let’s move.”

They had barely made it to a cab when a heavy rain started falling.

 

* * *

 

 

“I give up.” Constance raised her hands and let herself fall back on the couch, where Aramis had to half jump up from, in order not to spill his glass of wine.

They had been thinking all evening about what the she-devil might have wanted from Athos, and eventually they had ran out of ideas. When Constance suggested to plant something in the house of the wicked bitch of France and then arrest her, well, Aramis thought it would have been a good idea to open a bottle of wine to sooth her nerves. That, or a valium.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find out what it is,” he got up and headed towards the kitchen, “and we’ll stop her before she can do any damage.” He concluded, giving Constance a warm smile.

“Now, before you all get shitfaced, we should really eat something,” he opened the fridge and started taking out ingredients. No one stopped him, they all know that, for whatever reason, cooking was one of the things that relaxed Aramis the most.

While Aramis got busy making one of his notoriously delicious dinners, in the living room the conversation kept on going.

“Jesus, I can’t believe she’s back,” Porthos ran a hand through his hair, “It feels like we’re back to two years ago.”

Anne nodded sympathetically, “Well, at least this time we don’t have to deal with his damn family too,” she paused to take a sip of her wine, “or this time I think I would have physically hurt that asshole of his father.”

Everybody agreed on that. They all remembered Athos’s father, he was, hands down, the worst person they all had the displeasure to know. Well, okay, it was a tie with Our Milady of All Bitchiness, but other than her, he truly was the most god-awful person in existence.

“Do you guys think he’ll ever go back on his decision?” Constance’s voice was filled with hope, “I mean, Athos is still his son.”

Anne gave her best friend a smile, “I don’t think so, dear. What Athos did, to his father’s eyes, it’s just _wrong_.” She curled more comfortably in the corner of the couch, “It’s not like what I did. My family will eventually come around, some of them actually already have.” She smiled a bit, “But Athos?” She shook her head, “From what I heard, the Comte wasn’t even satisfied with throwing him out of the family and disinheriting him, he wanted to disown him. Which thankfully isn’t legal, but still, to his eyes Athos may as well be dead.”

Porthos got up, heading to the kitchen, “I can’t believe someone would ever do that to their own child,” he took the plate Aramis was handing him and passed it to the girls, “It just feels wrong. It’s your flesh and blood, after all.” Porthos’s discomfort was evident all over his face, his thoughts probably running back to his own family.

Aramis drew his boyfriend closer, kissing him sweetly, taking his mind off the bad memories from a past where Aramis was not there, no one was. Porthos lovingly ruffled Aramis’s hair, “You’re on your way to win the title of best boyfriend in Paris, you know that right?” Aramis gave him the best one of his bragging smiles, “Can I keep the one for cockiest man?”

Porthos laughed, kissing him once more, “I still have to met the man able to rob you of that one.”

That was the exact moment Athos chose to walk in through the door, soaking wet and half covered in mud, with a not even remotely soaked d’Artagnan on his heels.

 

“I need a towel.”

Not a single one of them was able to say a single word in response to Athos’s statement. D’Artagnan kept silent in his place behind Athos, while the other four simply stared at them, like they had just appeared from a cloud of smoke.

“Oh well, I guess pneumonia will work just as fine. Thank you.” Athos’s sarcastic voice seemed to shake everyone out of their shock status.

The first one to talk was Constance, who rose from the couch and reached him, “What on god’s good earth happened to you?” Anne followed, “You do know they invented this amazing device called ‘umbrella’, right?” Then it was Porthos’s turn, “What’s wrong? What are you doing here?” Naturally, Aramis had to join them, with what he thought was the most important question of all, “ _And who is he?_ ”

Athos was considering going back and drown himself in the puddle he had just fell in. He stoically managed not to do that, and actually managed to answer to some of their questions.

“He looked at Constance, “I slipped and fell in to a puddle,” he turned to Anne, “You’re getting the night shift for a week,” he ignored her murderous look, looking at them all, “And this is d’Artagnan, we’ve been seeing each other,” the young man raised one hand, mouthing a hi, “Now, can I have that bloody towel?”

Once again the room seemed to have gone fully quiet. This time, though, it was Aramis who broke the general silence, pointing at Athos and d’Artagnan “I KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP WITH YOU!”

Athos was about nine hundred percent done, so he turned to d’Artagnan, “They will probably not eat you alive. If they try to, shout and I’ll come.” That said, he shot a glaring look to his friends, and headed to Aramis’s bathroom.

D’Artagnan suddenly felt as a very juicy zebra in a room full of lions.

“Come on guys, stop looking at him like that,” Anne stood up from the couch and went to greet d’Artagnan.

“Hi, I’m Anne,” she turned towards the rest of the group and pointed to each of them as she mentioned their names, “That’s Constance, big scary guy is Porthos and the idiot with the demented look on his face is Aramis,” she turned back to d’Artagnan, ignoring Aramis’s glare, “nice to meet you.”

D’Artagnan smiled and held his hand out, “My pleasure, as ‘Thos said, I’m d’Artagnan.”

Anne nodded her head with a pleased expression, “’Thos?”

D’Artagnan nodded back, “Yeah, Athos.”

Aramis couldn’t hold himself anymore, “Oh, that’s just precious. You drink?” He motioned towards the open bottle of red on the countertop. When d’Artagnan nodded he took a clean glass, filled it with red wine and held it to him, “Please, do tell me all about how you and _‘Thos_ met.” The emphasis he put on the little nickname d’Artagnan used said lengths about on just how much he would mock Athos later.

D’Artagnan accepted the glass and leaned on the countertop, “Well, he helped me out of a bad situation some days ago.”

Aramis went back cooking, still listening to the boy, “Oh yeah, our very own good Samaritan he is.” Porthos jabbed him with an elbow, “Sorry d’Artagnan, you’ll have to forgive Aramis for his behavior, he’s usually not like this,” everybody stared at him, “Well, he’s always like this, but usually people end up suing him for that.” He concluded with a smile.

“Or sleeping with me, ouch! Will you stop hitting me??” Porthos had smacked him with one of the wooden spoons, “Will you stop being an idiot?”

D’Artagnan couldn’t help but smile a little, yeah, they were just like Athos had described.

Anne took a sip from her glass, “Helped you how?”

The boy hesitated for a second, in which Constance intervened, “If it’s personal don’t worry, just ignore these nosy dummies.” Everybody looked at her with an offended expression on their faces, d’Artagnan laughed and sent a grateful smile to Constance, “Thank you, but really, it’s nothing. I was finishing my shift at the café when two idiots assaulted me, Athos was kind enough to get rid of them and not let me to lie unconscious on the sidewalk.”

Aramis’s face lit up, “You’re one of the baristas at _Trèville’s_!”

D’Artagnan dubiously nodded at him, “Yes… Yes, I am. Why?”

Aramis couldn’t believe the irony, “Oh Fate, I knew you couldn’t mock me forever!”

Constance put an hand on her face, followed straight away by Porthos. Anne stood up from where she had sat back on the couch and moved protectively in front of d’Artagnan, “Yeah, when you start quoting Shakespeare, that’s when I start to worry.”

Aramis dismissed them all, dodged Anne’s attempt to block him, and straight hugged a rather bewildered d’Artagnan.

 

“Aramis. What the hell are you doing to my,” Athos paused for a fraction of a second, “friend?”

It took Athos no more than five minutes to clean himself up, regardless, when he came back to the living room he could see his friends had already grilled d’Artagnan and that, for some reason, Aramis was hugging the kid, with an ecstatic expression on his face.

Aramis turned, a huge grin on his face, “Nothing, I was just appreciating the irony of you going out with one of _Trèville’s_ baristas.” Athos stared at him with a blank expression, not understanding the implication, so Aramis continued, “You know,  _Trèville's_ , the café on rue de la Verrerie?”

Athos still couldn’t get the joke, when it hit him: _rue de la Verrerie!_ He groaned, “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Aramis shook his head, the huge grin still on his face, “You bet.”

D’Artagnan was still looking confused at them, “Is there something I should know?” Athos joined him leaning on the countertop, accepting the glass Porthos was offering him, “You see, these two idiots,” he said pointing at Aramis and Porthos, “Well, truly, it was probably all Aramis’s fault,” the man glared at him, “Still, these two had the brilliant idea to use one of the station’s car, sirens blasting, to bypass the morning traffic and get to the café you work at to get their morning coffee. Which, of course, ended with our superior wanting to kill them, and me for good measure.”

D’Artagnan couldn’t help but smiling, “Well, we _do_ make the best coffee in Paris.”

Athos groaned, “Not you too, please.” The boy smiled sympathetically and squeezed Athos’s hand as an apology. Athos smiled back and then realized he should actually tell the others what had happened, he turned to them but realized that they were all staring at him and d’Artagnan, with the exception of a rather pleased looking Anne, who simply moved her glass in a silent toast.

Athos restrained himself from strangling his friends, “Will you all please stop gaping like monkeys and listen to me?” His tone more serious now, which made his friends recover their composure.

“What’s wrong?” Constance had been the first one to talk, her voice not fully hiding her concern. Anne had tensed at Athos’s words, bracing herself, expecting what was about to come out of his mouth.

“It’s Clarisse. She’s back.” Athos managed to get out the words with an extreme effort, his instincts still battling against the idea of dragging everybody into that mess. Still, if he had learned anything from that big screw up that had been his wedding, it was this: the people in that room were his family, and family was there to help you. The last concept clashed with his experience with his own family, but thankfully his friends had managed to show them how a family was supposed to be. His eyes fell on d’Artagnan, standing next to him, holding his hand, and he realized that he wouldn’t have minded at all if the boy’s words had been true: he would have liked for d’Artagnan to stay.

“Fuck,” Aramis’s words brought him back to what was going on in the living room, “The bitch of all sorrows was faster than us.”

Athos frowned at that, “Excuse me?” His voice not exactly conciliatory.

Anne answered him, “I saw her, this evening.” Athos’s face lost all color, “You _saw her_ , and you didn’t tell me a single word about the thing?” His voice now was filled with rage, the extent of which surprised Anne, “What do you mean?”

Athos took a step forward, his rage risking to get the best of him, thankfully d’Artagnan kept his hold on the man’s strong, “I mean,” he paused, “ _how could you not tell me she was pregnant?_ ”

At that, everybody went silent for a second, the expressions on their faces making Athos understand they hadn’t had the faintest idea about the pregnancy, then all their voices exploded at the same time.

“SHE IS WHAT?” Constance’s voice pierced through his ears, probably deafening them all.

“Milady Bitch is fucking what now?” Well, he really couldn’t have expected anything else from Aramis.

“Fuck.” Porthos, ever a man of few words.

“I _knew_ she had a fucking motive!” Anne’s delicate voice managed to best all the other ones, “Oh, did I know it!”

Athos was starting to get one of the worst headaches of his life, “Anne, dear, would you mind explaining yourself, before I go completely insane?”

Anne nodded and quickly told Athos about that evening, when she had heard Milady’s voice, but not actually saw her. Athos sighed, rubbing his forehead, “I’m sorry, Anne, I overreacted.” Anne waved a dismissive hand, “That’s nothing, don’t even mention it. Still, now it’s your time to explain,” she paused for a second, “Please, tell me that child isn’t yours.”

Athos sighed, “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he let himself slide back against the counter, bringing d’Artagnan down with him, and he started telling them about the last time he had saw Clarisse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And d'Artagnan meets the gang!  
> I had to keep Milady out of the first moments of their acquaintance, I just couldn't give up on writing some of Aramis's idiotic reactions.  
> Next chapter will dwell on Athos's past, along with the rest of the story.  
> Hope you've liked the story so far and the new chapter.  
> Cheers!


	12. The Blood Of The Coven Is Thicker Than The Water Of The Womb

_[Eight months before]_

_Christmas had come and gone, and so had New Year’s Eve. Athos had basically spent the holidays at Constance’s place, only returning home to get some fresh clothing a couple of times. It hadn’t been planned, he just went over on Christmas Eve, to have dinner with the rest of their dysfunctional group, and ended up staying there after she plead him to keep her company._

_She claimed she wouldn’t feel safe alone in the apartment since her flat mate had left during the holidays, to move in with her fiancée. Athos had known that was a flat out lie, everyone knew Constance was more than capable of handling herself and an entire squadron of drug dealers, while baking cookies and painting her nails. And that she would actually manage to deal with the drug dealers much better than with the cookies. Still, Athos played along, and promised to stay for a couple of days, to get her adjusted. Somehow he had managed to stay for two weeks._

_Some of the best two weeks of his life, Constance truly was the perfect flat mate Isabelle always described her as, she did nothing but pamper Athos throughout the holidays, just as the other three members of their weird adoptive family did. Still, as much as he appreciated his friends fussing over him, it had been time to go back home, he’d start working again in a couple of days. So, when Aramis proposed to go out for drinks, to celebrate their last night of freedom, Athos gladly agreed to drink himself stupid along with his other four favorite idiots._

_Now he was miserably regretting his choice. It was two in the morning, god they used to keep it going ‘till five, they were getting old, and he was looking for his keys on the floor in front of his place’s door. He had managed to fumble them out and open the gate, but he had dropped them on the steps of the entrance door and now he couldn’t find them. He had been looking for them in the rose bushes surrounding the patio, god he hated those rose bushes. They’d been Clarisse’s idea, he couldn’t stand them, they’d give him insufferable allergies in the spring and they reminded him of his mother’s funeral the rest of the year. And now he had managed to scratch himself, fantastic. He let out a curse and, much to his surprise, the door opened._

_Clarisse was standing in the door frame, staring at him, a superior look on her face, “I was about to call the police. What are you doing in the bushes? You’re ruining them.”_

_Athos stood up, “What are you doing here?” his voice cold, his feet barely steady, the alcohol making his movements uncoordinated and his thinking slow._

_She shot him another look, “I came by this evening to look for some documents I think I left here, I’ll be on my way the moment I find them.”_

_Athos looked at her and demanded that she leave immediately._

_She replied she wasn’t taking orders from anyone._

_Athos only remembered arguing with her for what felt like forever, then slamming his,_ their _, bedroom’s door and collapsing exhausted on the bed. He didn’t remember the door opening, she was just there, her fingers on his face and her lips on his own, that was the last thing he remembered of that night. He woke up the next morning with only the sheets to keep him covered and Clarisse laying naked next to him. He remembered the nausea, the self disgust and the shame. He got dressed, got out of the place they had lived in for the past two years and never looked back. He had moved him in to a new place and never thought about that night ever again._

 

When Athos had finished talking, everybody was staring at him, trying to make sense of what he had just told them. Aramis was, of course, the first one to talk, “I need something stronger than wine for this.” He reached for the liquor cabinet and started pouring himself a generous glass of the whiskey they snatched from one of the Christmas baskets in Trèville’s office every year.

D’Artagnan was still sitting on the floor, with Athos half slouched against his right shoulder, he could feel the other man’s weariness in the way his body had slowly lost tension while he went on talking about his ex wife. D’Artagnan had decided that, not only his first impression of the woman was correct: he didn’t like her, but that Milady Bitch, as Aramis quite accurately called her, wasn’t even the worst nickname he could think of

He quite liked Aramis, except for his weird displays of random affection, the man was the human embodiment of a golden retriever: he wouldn’t stay still to save his life. While Athos told them about his ex wife, Aramis had managed to finish cooking dinner, feed every single one of them some, pour them more wine, clean the dishes and pass around what looked like homemade muffins. And now he was pacing around the apartment drinking his whiskey, stopping from time to time next to Porthos, who would gently stroke is back, and then he’d be on his way again, pacing from the big window looking over the street, to the entrance door. Door, Porthos, window. Window, Porthos, door. A freaking golden retriever. He was making d’Artagnan seasick when finally someone opened their mouth, “’Mis, either you stop walking around or I will stop you from being able to do that, ever again.”

Anne, the ever gracious Anne, was staring at Aramis with murder in her eyes. Still, since she turned her attention towards Athos, apparently the homicide intent wasn’t intended for Aramis after all, “I think I know what she’s up to.”

Everybody had still been processing the news, trying to get themselves adjusted to the news, Aramis by pacing around, Porthos by trying to keep his boyfriend sane, Constance by silently plotting to drown Milady in the Seine, well, everybody but one. Anne’s mind had been running, creating scenarios and analyzing them, _something_ was off in all this, and she had been determined to find out what, if it was the last thing she did. And apparently, she made it. It was but a conjecture, based on rumors she had heard as a child, nothing but whispers, but she couldn’t be surer of it.

“She was there on purpose.” Athos gave her a look, “What are you talking about?”

Anne drew a breath before explaining herself, “Do you remember the Legrande family?”

“Yeah, the duchess always crept me out as kid, why?” Anne half smiled, “Well, you should have listened to that gut feeling. I think she did the same thing Milady is doing to you.” Athos raised an eyebrow.

“Ok, without him being gay and disinherited,” Anne rolled her eyes, “other than that I think it’s the same. I’m not fully sure, but I remember my mother’s friends always gossiping about what they called the ‘miracle child’. Apparently the duke wanted to end the marriage, but she suddenly got pregnant,” she took a sip of her wine, “Naturally all rumors of a separation where silenced and it was claimed they had been looking forward to the pregnancy, but you know how that world works.” Anne finished her little speech with a shrug of her shoulders, they both knew that world all too well.

“Ok, so, let me get this straight: what you’re saying is that Milady of Everything That Is Evil and Wrong In This World,” Aramis clinked his glass with Porthos while speaking, “got herself knocked up on purpose?” He stopped, mulling it over, “That doesn’t really sound like her. You know, motherly instinct I mean. I always saw her more as the ‘eat your offspring’ kind of she devil.” 

“She’s after Athos title.”

“Uh?” Constance was looking at her, an unconvinced look on her face, “Why would she want Athos’s title?”

Aramis and Anne were staring at her with their best ‘are you shitting me’ combined expression. Constance huffed, “Yeah, I know she’s an evil megalomaniac bitch,” Aramis lifted his glass in appreciation, “but it’s just a title. We’re not in the seventeenth century, what would she do with it?”

Anne was about to explain her reasoning to Constance, when Athos beat her to the punch, “She’s gonna sue me.” Anne nodded.

It was Aramis’s turn to stare at him, “For what? Alimony?” At that, Anne shook her head, “If this is what I think it is then no, she’s not gonna sue him for alimony,” she paused “she’s gonna sue him for pretty much everything he’s got.”

“Ok, this doesn’t make any sense.” Porthos pointed at Athos, “He doesn’t have anything: he was disinherited, and she’s the one currently living in one of Athos’s family’s residences in the country, off their pocket. Why would she want to go after Athos? He doesn’t have anything valuable for her.”

Athos shook his head, “That’s not true, I still have some income my grandfather left me, but that’s not the point: Anne’s right, Clarisse wants my title. That way she can get her hands on my family fortune, or at least a conspicuous part of it.”

“But how?” Constance was looking at him, confusion on her pretty face.

Athos rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes, evidently tired by the situation, his voice was low, as if he was almost speaking to himself, “We signed a fucking prenuptial.” Constance was still looking at him, but Athos didn’t seem to be about to give any further explanation.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Anne decided to chime in, explaining it to everybody, “Athos signed an agreement, a prenuptial, in which I bet there’s a section, a clause or even just a sentence, where it’s stated that any child born into the marriage would heir the title and theregore an entire series of benefits linked with it, including, obviously, financial ones.”

Anne stopped, waiting to be told wrong, praying for it, but Athos simply nodded, “You’re perfectly right. She has much more to gain from being the mother of a future comte or comtesse than just being supported by my family.”

He got up and reached for some of the whiskey Aramis was already having, “They could decide to terminate their support, or sue for custody of the child. She wouldn’t be the one they wanted, the child would be. But, if she manages to claim the title for the child _before_ they have their hands on him or her, she couldn’t be touched. One thing of all things, she’d have legal control of the financial benefits until the child twenty-first birthday.”

He sipped some of his drink, “And, considering how old my father is, we all know he wouldn’t make it ‘till that birthday, she would probably end up having the legal control over the entire fortune he’ll leave to his heir, who, at this point, couldn’t be but the child.”

Athos slide down next to d’Artagnan once again.

 

The room fell silent, everyone was reflecting on the conclusions they had got to. After a while, they were all staring at Athos, who kept his eyes closed, leaning against d’Artagnan’s shoulder.

Porthos was the first one to talk, “You can’t let her have the child, Athos,” he paused looking his friend straight in the eyes, “Regardless of the money, she can’t be raising your child. The only reason this kid would have to have come into the world would be that his mother is a soulless opportunist, that’s just wrong.”

Aramis put an hand on Porthos’s back, in a reassuring motion, while Athos finally opened his eyes and nodded, “Yeah, I know. That’s the reason why I’m freaking out,” at that d’Artagnan unconsciously mirrored Aramis’s action, and started rubbing circles on Athos’s back.

“I couldn’t care less about the money, I gave that up a long time ago. It’s the child that worries me.” He leaned into d’Artagnan’s touch, not noticing Anne and Constance’s sweet smile at the gesture, “Still, Clarisse is going to put up a hell of a fight to keep that child, she’s not going to give up easily.”

“Oh well, neither am I.”

Everybody turned to face Anne, whose expression was one Aramis knew all too well, “You’ve got a plan.”

“I do, I really do.” Constance knew that look too, it was the same one Anne always wore before kicking one of her opponents to the ground.

“I’ve known you for maybe three hours, and I wouldn’t bet a dime against you.” D’Artagnan was looking at her, a lopsided grin on his face.

Athos wasn’t going through hell again, not if she and the rest of them had anything to do with it.

She raised her glass as a thank you and she smiled like a knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as you all can see: I'm not dead.  
> My old computer, on the other end, is.  
> With all the stuff I wrote about this, and other stories, inside of him. RIP, man, you will be missed.  
> Of course, like an idiot, I hadn't saved this fic in the dropbox folder. So, I had to retrace my train of thought and type the thing back from memory.  
> Somehow I managed to change the story slightly, deciding to take another direction with it, which I hope you'll like.  
> What else? Oh yeah, I missed Ao3 and all of you guys, it's been too long!  
> As always, not beta'd, so if you see any mistakes, point them out and I'll fix them.  
> Oh, and if anyone knows a beta who would want to beta this stuff, please, do tell them they'd have my eternal gratitude.  
> Well, hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> Cheers!  
> P.S.: I stole the line 'she smiled like a knife' from Pratchett and Gaiman's _Good Omens_ , amazing book, do read it if you have the chance!


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